Symbiosis
by Angel Commando
Summary: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was trying to gain honor in his clan - but life had other plans. Now they must survive as a single unit. Throw in government experiments, Yautja culture. . . And what's this about Paya giving the clan a gift? Now he has to keep her from losing her sanity, and she has to try and not taint their honor. . . Easier said than done.
1. Prologue: Small Voices

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**:She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **None, really. A small spattering of some language, and a small amount of disturbing images/ a little bit of gore.

**Author's Notes: **Hello, and welcome to this. . . Well, I don't really know what the hell it is, really. It's a fanfiction, but I don't really know where it's going. I don't have an end for it. But let's get through this first arc together, and when that happens, we'll probably figure it out! But anyway. I was inspired after reading a few fics on this site, and I thought, hey, I might as well bring my own fic to the table.

Updates will be slow, anticipate that. But I hope I'll bring something new to the whole "girl gets tangled up with the Yautja." Also, summary subject to change.

And hey, a little government experimentation never hurt, right? Let's get onto the prologue!

**I am so sorry. One of my other files bled into this one. I fixed it! **

* * *

"When you look in the mirror, what do you see? Do you see the real you, or what you have been conditioned to believe is you? The two are so, so different."  
-David Icke

* * *

Drugs, she mused, were really fucking trippy.

Her head lolled to the side, the room leaving fuzzy trails in her vision as her eyes lazily tracked from one side of it to the other. It was hard to focus on much, but she tried. She knew that so long as she tried to concentrate on a single thing, she was able to do it. . . usually. It depended on how much crap they decided to shove into her veins that day. . .

That day.

Her thoughts stopped there, hitting against a mental barrier as they tried to tumble over themselves.

_Just how long have I been here, anyway? _

In the back of her mind, a voice tried to respond, growling in anger, but she tuned it out. She didn't want an answer. . . She was scared to know it. She'd lost count a long, long time ago - but had she ever really kept track, though? It was so hard to ell when it was night, when it was day. . . All she knew was that she slept, or she was awake. She had two modes of existence: on and off.

She heard a rustle, and it piqued her interest. She turned her head, fighting against the heavy lead weights that tried to make her chin drop onto her chest. It was a very enticing option, though, and it took nearly everything she had in her to resist it. It would be utterly amazing to fall asleep, though. To just let her head fall down, allow her eyes to shut, her mind to drift off. . . She found her strength slipping away, and her head started to dip, her chin hitting her chest. Inwardly, she screamed, fighting it, trying to ward off sleep, but it was quickly becoming a futile effort.

Discordant bits of sound ran through her mind, and rapid-fire images assaulted her, reminding her of times and places _before_, of a life without florescent lights and the overwhelming smell of sterile bleach. . .

The rustle sounded again, somehow giving her the strength to open her eyes. She remembered now - she had something to do. She had to focus on something. . . The sound! Yes, the sound. It was her objective. _God, they must really be laying it on me pretty thick today. . . I almost fell asleep_. Normally she lasted a minute or five, not just a few seconds. The sound continued, but she identified it as papers shuffling together.

Through a monumental effort, she finally managed to lift her head. For a long moment, she tried to place exactly what she was looking at, but she was having difficulty doing it. The shapes kept blurring together, forming amorphous masses. But by concentrating, and staring, eventually, the picture began to clear. And she jumped (albeit very, very sluggishly), as a strangled, half-dead mewl floated into the air, startling her.

. . . And she felt a lance of anguish spear through her as she realized the noise was coming from _her_.

And it was very easy to see why.

She looked like a sci-fi science experiment come to life. Half of her head had been shaved clean, wires and ports and tubes sticking out of angry, red skin. More tubes and pipes and hoses were hooked into her arms and legs, covering practically everything else. The rest of her looked like a walking, diseased skeleton. Her skin was pulled tight over her bones, and horrible, ugly bruises spanned the entirety of her, making her look like a damn leper. Her naked body was only covered by a hospital gown that tied in the back, but it rode up her thighs, revealing more of her than she would have ever liked to show. In another time, another life, she supposed she might have felt a measure of modesty. As it were, she could only manage to drop her eyes, avoiding her reflection. So long as she didn't see herself, then she couldn't feel bad about it. . . right?

"_Good, you're awake_." A voice said.

She knew it well. It belong to a man, a man that questioned her relentlessly over and over. She was wary of this voice, for it had pried and picked her brain apart until it had been nothing. And then he pressed on, dissecting _her _until nothing remained.

Against her will, she lifted her eyes up again, looking at her reflection. Lank, brown hair hung down her left shoulder, looking dead and limp. She frowned. There had been a time, she was certain, that it had been glossy, when it had caught the sun's rays and bounced, healthy and full of life.

She frowned, trying to look past the mirror, to the other side of the glass, where the main waited, she was positive. He was looking her now - the Man Behind the Glass.

One day she'd see him. She'd commit his face to memory, she was sure.

"_Did you sleep well?_"

The voice in the back of her head snarled, furious as a caged animal, tired of being ignored, but she continued to push it aside, not wanting to acknowledge it. She didn't want to think about the voice, or the consequences of trying to talk to it. In any case, the question was rhetorical. He asked her that every time. Instead of answering, she looked over the features of the room - and found none. It was a blank, white room. Florescent lighting buzzed overhead, beginning to irritate her.

"_Anyway, let's move on. How are you feeling?_"

It wasn't a question of sincerity. It was a scientific one.

It had been a hard, hard lesson, but she'd found out that as a person, they really didn't give a rat's ass about her.

"M'tired." She mumbled. It was much easier to be honest than it was to lie. She'd also learned that earlier. Lying caused a great deal of pain. Telling the truth was met with less pain.

"_Yes, I can see that. Well, don't worry. We'll keep our conversation short today. You'll be sleeping again soon_."

_That's good. Sleep sounds good_.

"_We only have three questions for you today. Three very simple questions. Are you ready?_"

Silence.

Oh, they were expecting an answer.

"Okay." She said warily, forcing her sluggish tongue to cooperate. The drugs racing through her system were wicked that day, apparently. Normally, she was sure she wasn't this low.

"_Good. Question one. . . do you remember your name?_"

She looked at herself in the mirror, and she caught her breath. In the reflective surface, she looked. . . She looked terrified. Her eyes were a little wide, too wide, and her mouth was open, breathing in air in shallow, short little pants. She closed it, trying to force herself to calm down, but it didn't work.

"My. . . my name?" She rasped, staring at her reflection.

"_Yes. Your name. The designation you were given at birth. Do you remember it?_"

"I. . . I can't-" She stuttered, her tongue unwilling to form the words.

What was her name? What was that thing that people had called her? She could remember friends and family, turning to her, speaking to her, calling her _something_. It was important that she remember it, she knew. But the drugs were just. . . shit, she couldn't think. She couldn't remember anything past the last ten minutes. In the back of her mind, the voice stirred, offering a quiet answer.

It didn't feel right, it wasn't her, but it was all she had.

"R. . . Rhet. Ree-jeet. My name is. . . is Riejet."

"_Close_." The Man Behind the Glass urged. "_Try again."_

The voice barked at her, snapping out the word like the crack of a whip, and she understod.

"Rjet." She answered, proud to have remembered.

There was a beat of silence, and the voice neither praised nor berated her. Finally, however, he responded.

"_Can you not remember your name?_"

_But I. . . I just said. . . _

"It's Rjet." She said. "It's got to be. . ."

A stinging wetness burned her eyes as tears built there, threatening to fall.

_"No reason to get upset. Can you not remember your name?_"

She gave a tiny shake of her head, all she could manage. "R-Rject." She murmured, trying again.

"_Another time. I'm sure you'll remember it another time. Let's move onto the next question, then. Do you remember what happened to you_?"

At that, the raging voice in the back of her head fell silent.

For a moment, however, the room flashed, and she smelled the earthy, pleasant aroma of dirt, felt a biting cold in her skin, and something black glistened in the dark. . . But that was it.

"No." She replied. The images and scents were gone as quickly as they'd come, much to her unexpected relief.

"_I see. . . Now, last question. Have you been talking_?"

Her heart leaped up into her throat, and she struggled, shaking her head. She knew better than to try and act out, to disobey the voices. It meant pain. Endless amounts of pain, agony, and blood, but she didn't want to answer this question. She felt her stomach drop as the seconds ticked on, and she hiccuped, shifting around, fear racing through her veins. She didn't want to say the answer.

"Please," She begged, tears sliding down her cheeks, "Please, don't. . ."

"_So you haven't_." There was no anger or disappointment in his tone, and that made her still in horror.

"Please," She tried again, "Please, I swear, stop, don't-"

"_We expected so much more of you_," The voice continued, ignoring her teary appeals, "_So much more_."

She knew what that meant. Above the buzz of the lights, she began to hear another kind of humming noise, one that made her blood freeze in her veins. She cried, even though she knew it was useless, and she tried to thrash in her restraints, attempting to break free, but that was unsuccessful. And finally, as the humming grew louder, she slumped over and gave in completely, sobbing, ehr chest heaving.

When the electricity hit her, it took her by surprise, as it had millions of times before.

Her back arched, and all of her muscles contracted at once, seizing painfully under her skin. And then she was lost to torture, her mind detaching from her body, as it always did after. She'd lost track of exactly how many instances they had shocked her, sending volts of electricity into her veins, making her convulse. The shock seemed to last for an eternity as she suffered, but then it ended, and she slumped over, head lolling forward.

As unconsciousness began to engulf her in slow, lazy spirals, she felt. . . She felt something.

A small, tiny spot of resistance. Though it was minuscule, it glared with a core of tenacity so bright, she couldn't help but be affected by it. She blindly latched onto it, absorbing what she could, and from what she could siphon, she had enough strength to feel defiant, to glare absolute _murder _at the mirror, at the men in white coats who were probably staring at hr.

She thought of reaching through the glass, shattering it, taking the shards and digging them into tender skin, of reaching in and tearing out the Man Behind the Glass's tongue and heart out of his chest with her bare hands.

"Fuck you." She seethed.

Somewhere, in the back of her head, she heard a dark, barking laugh. A glow of agreement prickled over her skin, and other images settled into her vision. She could see her hands digging into a spine and viciously tearing it out, blood and gore dripping from her black talons.

_Pauk de.**_

For a moment, silence reigned. But then the speakers crackled to life, and she swore she heard him smiling.

"_Very good. Very, very good. . ._"

And with that, her head dropped onto her chest, and reality faded.

* * *

Pauk de == Fuck you.


	2. The Room

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**:She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Teensy bit of language.

**Author's Notes: **Whattup. It's Halloween, I have a ton of homework to do, and I don't wanna do it. So I decided to write another chapter of this instead. Forgive me for the choppiness of it - I really want to get over this hurdle to get to the good stuff. But this one I think sets the tone really nicely for why certain key players are where they are. But I digress.

I hope y'all are doin' good. I was sick as a dog, but just got over it. Instead of doing anything this Halloweenie, I'm eating my weight in junk food and watching scary movies. Though to be honest, I'm going to go to bed soon and crash, because I'm exhausted and I have homework and work tomorrow. Ugh. Anyway, here you go!

**JFC. **

**It did it again. Proof that I actually DID change it: the quote. Fanfiction is out to get me. **

* * *

"Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you."  
-John Irving

* * *

_Waking up sucks. _

Riley groaned as she slowly came to.

The lights above her droned on happily, welcoming her return to reality, and were more than happy to stab their rays of light down into her eyes. Hissing in pain, she blinked away the watery tears gathering and somehow scraped together what little strength she had to roll over.

Pillowing her head on her arms, she created a little shadowed alcove for her poor eyes to adjust. Breathing in slowly, the teen tried to contain the roiling of her stomach, which threatened to make her vomit if she dared move any more. Suppressing a pitiful whine, Riley closed her eyes and concentrated on just waking up.

The seconds bled into minutes, and she was absolutely positive the minutes turned into hours, but eventually, the nausea subsided. Feeling slightly better, Riley finally allowed more and more light into her little shadowed den, and when her eyes were finally adjusted, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

The Room was there, waiting for her, just like it always was.

She was laying in the middle of the floor, as was custom, and there, right to the left, was a little cot for her to lay on. No blankets, no pillows - it was just a cot. She had a sneaking suspicion it was metal just covered in a piece of plastic-like cloth, as it was the most uncomfortable thing she'd ever laid on, but it was better than the floor. She didn't know why they always deposited her in the middle of the room, on the floor. . . but if she had to guess, it probably had to do with her nightmares.

She had a metric fuckton of them, and she was always fighting, always tossing and turning. . . Either that, or they just didn't give a shit. Floor, metal cot with a covering - what was the difference?

Riley couldn't feel her legs, and when she tried to get up and have them support her weight, they wobbled like pieces of rubber. So she gave up on using them altogether, and uncaring of how undignified it made her look, Riley used her hands to crawl across the floor and to the cot. She felt exhausted when she reached it, but was grateful when she finally flopped onto it. Breathing harshly, her heart pounding in her ears, she tried to blink away the fog covering her vision.

How many times has she woken up in the Room? A hundred? A thousand? A million?

Too many for her to count. Dejected, Riley cast a glance over the Room, but it was the same as it always had been. A clear, plastic door with holes marked the entrance. It didn't matter that it was transparent. When they wanted to drag her anywhere, the men in white goats just gassed her cell and waited for her pass out. Since the sleeping agent they used was colorless and only faintly tasted of too-sweet sugar, it wasn't until she started getting drowsy did she realize that she was being drugged.

And by then, it was too late to feel panicked or scared.

Smiling wryly to herself, Riley laid down, staring off into space, where the wall across from her was just _so _interesting. In her time in the Room, she'd examined every nook, cranny, and detail - there was no way in, no way out, except for the main door. The vents they used to pump gas into her cell were circular nozzles embedded into the ceiling - even if she pried the cover off, it was only big enough to cram half of her hand into. The only exit was the door, which was locked, and barricaded by at _least _two or three more.

So Riley had set to slowly dying in the Room, her soul whittling away piece by piece.

But. . . but what else could she do? At first, in the very, _very _beginning, she'd fought. She'd battled against the soldiers and white coats that came into her room, that tried to take her away, shove needles into her veins, strap gas masks over her face. . . but they'd always won. And after the twentieth or fiftieth time (she'd honestly lost count), she'd given up. The pain just wasn't worth it. If she went with them willingly, they weren't as harsh with her.

Hell, sometimes she was even _allowed to walk _to her next confinement space, though if Riley had to guess, it was really only to test whether or not the drugs they'd given her were working properly.

Sighing, Riley curled in on herself, and battled a wave of fatigue.

Once upon a time, there had been more, beyond the Room. She was absolutely sure of it. But it was getting harder to remember those days where life had been normal. Maybe it was the Room, slowly bleaching away her past to the searing, hated white that was constantly surrounding her. An itch started on the side of her head, and Riley gently brought a hand up to rub at the tender skin there. Despite her tiredness, she was excruciatingly careful not to pull any of the wires or tubes that stuck into her skull.

It still surprised her, but Riley bit her bottom lip to keep it from shaking. Once, she'd had a full head of hair. Brown, she remembered, and no matter what country she was in, she always splurged, always found money to locate dry shampoo of some kind, just to keep it clean. It was impossible to have running water in third world countries sometimes, so dry shampoo and baby wipes had been her best friend.

_Oh. . . I'm starting to see it again. . . _

Riley dropped her hand and closed her eyes as sleep began to claw its way through her, and memories flashed before her eyes. But even though it started, Riley felt a sense of dread beginning to thread its way through her heart. The flashes began to become more and more coherent, and she could hear screaming, see blood flashing across her vision, feel the burn of molten lava across her skin. . .

The dreams were only the beginning.

_I don't want the nightmares again. . . _

But they started anyway, as they had, so many times before, at the beginning. . .

* * *

Riley felt groggy as she stood, trying her absolute best to stay awake. She'd slept. . . Well, actually, she wasn't sure how much she'd slept, but she was sure she'd _over_slept, meaning that she'd feel gross for the rest of the day, and likely into a good portion of tomorrow. In any case, she mused, she was really happy she was getting up and about. Sitting for hours and hours in an airplane was not her most favorite activity in the world, and she was dying to get out and stretch her legs.

Or unroll her bedding and just a nap on the tarmac. . . either way.

Disembarking, Riley grimaced and frowned as she forfeited air conditioning for a wall of hot and humid air that smacked her in the face. It did little to improve her mood, and really just made her more sleepy. Half-awake, the eighteen-year-old shuffled with the masses onto the tarmac and into the airport. She stood in a daze as she passed through entry visas (which, for a tiny, third-world country, was remarkably fast) quite quickly. She headed for the baggage claim and stood there, eyes half-lidded, and she dozed.

The screeching noise of the rotating carousel eventually roused her, and she rubbed at her eyes, blinking away sleep. Maybe her bags had already gone around once or twice, but when she stared at the baggage claim, there were fewer people clustered around it and - in a stroke of luck - her bags were actually rounding the corner.

Riley leaned forward and grabbed them, sluggishly making her way over to customs. Her baggage was heavy, and she thanked everything holy for the invention of wheels on suitcases. What else could support the weight of practically all of her expedition gear? Still, Riley was amazed when she made it through customs in the blink of an eye, the man behind the counter barely giving her a glance as she passed him her declarations form. And then she promptly emerged on the other side of the airport.

It was the middle of the day, not quite at its peak of hotness, but it just made Riley want to find a chest full of ice and lay in it all the same.

Her beloved hometown of Los Angeles didn't have anything on this heat.

Before she headed out to the arrivals area, where her ride was supposed to be waiting, Riley took a moment to make a beeline for the bathrooms. The bathrooms were small, dinky, with no lights and a broken door. The floors were streaked with dirt, and a firm layer of dust covered the only window that allowed muted light to filter in. Riley stepped in, too tired to really care. Besides, she reasoned, she'd seen much worse. And this was a third-world country.

Throwing her backpack on the counter, the teen was quick to remove a change of clothes and stripped out of her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt. She slipped into something far more favorable: a pair of well-worn daisy dukes, and a spaghetti strap cami. It was a plain black cami, and normally she would've opted for something more colorful, but hey. . . at least it made the green of her eyes pop. She'd taken after her father in that aspect: they both shared wicked cat-green eyes. Though hers stood out more because Riley was no stranger to mascara and eyeliner. She peered at herself in the mirror, looking at toned muscles, and tapped her fingers against the counter.

After a short, internal debate, Riley finally rolled her eyes and grabbed a white, transparent button-up blouse. It was meant for such an occasion - she didn't to look like she was offering up the goods. Tossing it on, she crinkled the white fabric in her hands, felt the heat pressing it on her, and finally opted to leave the top few buttons undone. There. Perfect, except. . .

"Ah. Yeah. Forgot about that." She muttered.

Her hair was a mess - but luckily Riley as also no stranger to styling it. After a few wet pat-downs, she threw it into a loose bun and called it good.

After a short trip to a bathroom stall, Riley left the airport and wandered outside, where she dropped her suitcase on the ground, and uncaring of how it made her look, sat down on it. She was glad she'd opted for the white cover-up blouse. Though she'd said "cultural respects be damned" she really was dressed a little on the skimpy side. But the heat simply made her stop caring. For a little while, Riley just sat there, watching the hustle and bustle of Kathmandu. Nepalese people flitted about her, giving her plenty of second glances and double-takes.

She sat on her suitcase, a pile of luggage surrounding her, blearily staring into space.

_Nepal is pretty_, Riley decided.

Nepalese people were all smiles and friendliness. Riley propped her chin on her hand and smiled idly to herself, glad to have something to distract her.

"Escuse." A voice said to her left, catching her attention, "Ar yew. . . Rileh?"

She perked up and craned her neck back. A young teen - probably no more than fifteen - looked back at her. He had all the traits of a Nepalese man - almond-shaped eyes, their color a beautiful, rich brown, short-cropped black hair, and olive skin. He was dressed slightly better than his fellow countrymen, but even his shirt and pants had holes and tears. Riley sat there, staring at him for a moment, before she spotted the lanyard he was wearing. And she could clearly see her father's company's logo standing out.

She rose to her feet and stuck out her hand.

"Namaste.**" She replied.

It wasn't perfect, but she would have a few solid months to pick up on some Nepalese. Besides, other languages were more her forte - but she'd learn it in time. The boy looked taken aback for a moment, but then smiled and stuck his hand out in response.

"Namaste.**" He replied, grabbing her hand tightly. "I am Suraj."

("_Suraj! Suraj, no! Please, god no, Suraj! Don't let go of my hand! Hold it tighter! Don't let _go!-")

Riley grinned, and released his hand. "You're going to drive me to my dad?"

Suraj nodded. "Yes. I am. . . take of the hills."

So his English wasn't perfect, but she could understand him just fine. Suraj picked up her suitcase before she could turn him down, and took the lead, walking her to the truck. Riley followed, her other baggage balanced precariously, but manageable. This wasn't her first rodeo. Riley trailed along beside him, taking in Kathmandu. She knew it was going to be one hell of a ride back and forth from town, so she'd probably have to stop at a local store and pick up some goodies before she got too lost in the mountains.

Suraj led her to a rickety truck that most definitely was not street legal, but at least it had a metal frame, and that was all Riley needed. And hell, the drivers in Nepal were probably more kind and considerate than those in L.A. It was just _getting _to where you wanted to go that was the problem. From what she'd researched, and what her father had told her, Nepal roads were considerably lacking compared to those in the States. But she'd get used to it. . . she hoped.

"So. . . yew cuming frum Amerka?"

Riley couldn't help it - she giggled. Suraj smiled, looking a tiny bit embarrassed, and Riley waved a hand. "I'm sorry - I'm tired. Very tired. Yes, I'm coming from America. You are from Nepal?"

Suraj started the truck, which wheezed, sounding sick and diseased, but it eventually turned over and dropped into gear. With an expertise that Riley knew she'd never had, the teen began to maneuver his way onto the busy streets.

"I heared. . . Amerka was good place. Nice place."

"Depends, but yes, I like living there. Suraj, can we stop by a store - a market?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I take. I one day want go to Amerka."

"America. Auh-mer-eh-ka."

"Auhmeerika."

"We'll work on that."

A few hours later found Riley snoozing in the truck's cabin. She'd purchased nearly half of the store's inventory, with most of her haul littering the truck's cab and half of its bed. A girl could never be too prepared for a six-month stint in Nepal.

She'd also bought her and Suraj something to nibble on for the truck ride over - which would be another whopping 4 hours. Beside her, her newly-acquainted friend was eating away at some kind of junk food that came out of a bag. Riley, however, was more than happy to save the munchies for when she was actually hungry.

She had her head on her backpack, which helped create a soft buffer for her head. Suraj was peppering her with questions about America, and in her sleep, Riley answered them. As fall as she could recall, however, most of her conversation was correcting Suraj's speech, which he adamantly insisted upon and committed to memory. Riley figured she had plenty of time to get to know the kid and ask to practice her Nepalese, so she was content to just sit in the truck and nap.

Finally, however, the wheezing of the truck stopped, and Suraj killed the engine.

"We are here." The teen said, carefully and proudly saying each word.

Riley blinked and scrubbed at her face, staring at the small camp. They were situated about 5,000 feet into the Himalayas, not too far away from a breathtaking view of Mt. Everest, but man, was the temperature different. It almost felt _cold_. Impressive what a few thousand feet could do. Grogginess wearing of, and excitement replacing it, Riley hopped out of the truck.

"I'll get my junk later. Don't worry." She shut the door with a loud clang, turning her attention to the camp, eagerly scanning the people milling around.

She saw a few Sherpas, more Nepalese, a few foreigners, and. . .

"Daddy!" She squealed.

Her father stopped, turning around, and when they made eye contact his face lit up. "Riley ! I was wondering when you'd show up! C'mere, baby girl."

Riley's cheeks hurt from the wide smile on her face as she dashed forward and wrapped her father up in a tight hug, almost knocking him over. "Daddy, I missed you so much! It's been three months!"

Her father laughed, patting her back in reassurance as he pulled away from her. "Three months well spent, I assure you, kiddo. Just _wait _until you see what we've discovered. Baby girl, you're gonna _love _ this."

Riley dropped her arms-

(_"Suraj, where's my dad? He just. . . he was there. I saw it. Right there. Suraj, he was _there. _Dad! Daddy! _Daddy!")

-and smiled. "It better be. I was in the middle of my Russian studies, you know."

"With the rate you pick up languages, kiddo, I wouldn't be surprised if you knew Russian by the end of the week. Think of it this way: you get to learn Nepalese now. But here, here, c'mere. Let me show you."

Riley followed her father over to a small workbench he'd been bending over. One could say that Riley was the spitting image of her father. Henry Landon had passed on most of his features, the most prominent being his eyes - but his hair was a sandy blond, whereas Riley's was a deep brown. A gift from her mother. Henry stood a solid six foot three, and unlike many archaeologists and digsite workers, was in fairly decent shape. . . and he openly carried a weapon. Granted, ninety percent of the time it was covered by the jackets or shirts, Riley always knew he was wearing a gun holster.

Her father was peppered with scars from both his chosen career and from scuffles with locals who didn't believe in archaeological digs.

Henry had also passed that trait onto her, drilling it into her head from the day she could walk: always be able to defend yourself.

With an excited flourish, Henry brought his daughter's attention back to the present, and she stepped up, looking at the stack of photographs. Fatigue and jet lag momentarily forgotten, Riley scrubbed at her eyes and tried to figure out what she was looking at. And what she saw utterly confused her. To put it very simply: it was a door. But it was a door unlike any she had ever seen before. There were markings that certainly didn't come from any language she was familiar with, and growing up with Henry Landon, archaeologist and ancient culture extraordinaire, had meant she'd run into her fair share.

"Dad, what is this?" She asked, reaching out to touch the photos.

"That's why I brought you here." Her father replied, "I've never seen anything like it before in my life. And hey, I figured, if it's new to me, my baby girl might want to see it too."

"It's. . . it's different." Riley hedged.

(_If I'd ever known what was on the other side of the door, I never would have come. I would have run to the other side of the planet and nuked it. Why? Why did it have to happen like this? This was all my fault. . ._)

In terms of construction, the door was nothing like what she'd ever seen. The rock did look indigenous to the area, but there wree runes and shapes she'd never encountered imprinted into it, almost as if the rock had been cut with some kind of laser. The more Riley stared at it, the more it hurt her brain.

"And that's why I called you here!" Her father said in a rush, bending over the picture, a spark in his eyes. "We've been given the go-ahead by the dig's benefactor to open the door. We'll be cracking that baby in about a week."

"So soon?"

Her father straightened from the photographs, trademark, charismatic Henry Landon smile on his face, and a spark in his eye.

"Just you wait, Riley. You'll see - this is _it!_"

* * *

Riley forced herself to wake up.

the world came back to her in dizzying spirals, and she breathed harshly as she came to.

"No." She said, her voice rasping in the air. "No, I don't want to see this. I don't want to dream it anymore. _Stop_."

Every time she closed her eyes, it was the same thin, day in, day out. Dream. Play through the nightmares. Wind up in the Room. Dream. . . rinse and repeat.

She was fairly certain it was chipping away at her sanity, and at this point, she was ready for an out. If there was a spare razor or a piece of metal laying around, she'd happily end the cycle of vicious torture. Riley screwed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands against them. She was tired of crying, she was tired of reacting like this. . .

But fuck, if she dreamed it _one more time_, she was fairly certain she was going to go insane.

Remembering her father's smile made her eyes burn and water, and before she knew it, she was crying, quietly sobbing as she rocked back and forth.

"Daddy. . ." She mewled, guilt ripping through her.

And through her pain, through her torture, a single, tiny shred of a word floated through her brain:

_Dtai'kai-dte. _

She knew what it meant. It was said to her every time she woke up.

Fight.

Riley cried, knowing that her torment was only the beginning.

* * *

Namaste == Napalese way of saying hello and goodbye.

Dtai'kai-dte == Fight.


	3. First Blood

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**:She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Language, and the tiniest hint of gore!

**Author's Notes: **Alright, I'm obviously addicted to this story or something. You guys are in luck, I was able to whip out my homework and get it done so I could write this. I'm not sure if the next chapter will be ready in time, but next weekend. . . Who knows. I'll try to aim for updating on the weekends, but my school and life get in the way. Hopefully things slow down a little so I'll be able to write a little bit more.

I'm practicing lower word counts, because I can get very, very wordy. So things are a little smaller, but watch, I might just break that unofficial vow. Anyway. I hope you enjoy! We're finally getting into the meat of things, but the next chapter will probably be the best one, I think. You get to find out what happened to Riley, Suraj, Riley's dad. . . and everybody else on the dig crew.

But I'm thinking a lot of people will probably already know.

* * *

"I assess the power of a will by how much resistance, pain, torture it endures and knows how to turn to its advantage."  
-Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

The taste of sugar was heavy on her tongue.

Riley swallowed, closing her eyes and doing her best to stop her heart from fluttering in her chest. She was terrified - she didn't know what the hell they were going to do to her today, but she wasn't looking forward to it. Not in the slightest. The muscles in her arms and legs were already feeling heavy, and thinking quickly, Riley sat herself down on the floor before her legs gave out.

She sat there, breathing slowly and steadily, her skin already aching and pulsing, her nerves crackling.

Whenever they drugged her, it meant testing. And whenever testing was going to happen, it meant scalpels and needles and electrical shocks and _pain_. Odd, that she should still be afraid of it, when she'd been living with pain for so, so long. . .

Her head started to spin, but it in act of defiance, Riley remained stubbornly sitting upright. She had to prove she was still strong _somehow_. Her soul may have been dying, but she still had the strength to sit tall, and that was something. She knew that if she stopped resisting in tiny, defiant ways, she was going to forfeit completely to the madness. And when that day came, she would finally die inside.

Lead replaced her blood, and Riley fought against gravity, but it won. She slumped over, catching herself in a clumsy mess before she collapsed entirely, and exhaustion pulled at her as she laid on the cold floor of the cell. _My kingdom for a blanket_, she thought bitterly. She hadn't slept with one for years, it seemed, and she was permanently cold. It had been so long, she was positive that she would never be warm again in her life. Nausea swirled through her as the sickly sweet flavor of drugs flooded her mouth.

_If I ever live through this_, she thought, drowsy, _I'm never going to eat candy again._

Her eyes closed, but she was still awake. If she really tried, she could crack them open just a fraction to take in a very foggy and distorted world. Muted voices floated to her from the other side of the door, and after just a moments, it slid open, permitting men inside. She could see the shiny black boots of a few soldiers, but a vast majority of them were scientists - the White Coats.

Their words were garbled and slurred to her, and she couldn't understand a vast majority of what they were saying, but she could hear snippets and phrases. "Blood tests" and "surgery" were among the most prominent.

Hands grabbed her, hefting her up and off the floor. Riley couldn't have fought back, even if she'd tried. The drugs were flooding through her system, turning her feeble and helpless as a tiny kitten. The hands and arms deposited her onto a gurney, but didn't bother to strap her down, adding insult to injury. The White Coats adjusted the gurney, and they were off, wheeling her through whatever godforsaken complex they were in. The hallways were white and gray, bleeding into each other, and it didn't take Riley very long to shut her eyes to stop herself from throwing up.

There was no use trying to keep track of where she was. She had tried to escape more than once, and she failed every time. Why bother?

In the back of her mind, she felt the voice stirring, growling and snapping and fighting through her veil of drugs to get her attention. Riley hummed mentally, not particularly caring whether or not they communicated today.

In fact, she was quite pissed at it, and she didn't really have a desire to have a conversation.

A frustrated growl was her answer, and it tore through the thick curtain of drugs with that much more fervor, determined to reach her.

A loud beep sounded to her right, and she flicked her eyes sluggishly, trying to find where it was coming from. God, machines could be so loud nowadays. . .

"_. . . they're talking. . . not out?_" One of the White Coats asked.

Another answered, but he responded too quickly for Riley to catch what he was saying.

The gurney bumped to a stop, and Riley blinked, hissing as bright lights assaulted her eyes, searing into her retinas like the sun. She wanted to wince, but she didn't have the strength. The ceiling above was a matte gray metal, but it gave her little reprieve. As she stared into the light, she felt a lance of fear when she realized it was the domed casing of a surgery light. Her heart gave a muted thump, and she felt her fingers itch. . . she wanted to get out, to run. She knew what this meant.

She was proven right when gloved hands grabbed her head, twisted it to the side, and began to strap her down. Somebody fitted a plastic mask over her face, and she heard the shallow, fearful pants of her breathing. The sharp smell of alcohol stung her nose, and a second later, she felt a wet dabbing at her head as they began to prepare the bald side of her skull. She breathed, feeling dizzy and faint, and she knew she only had seconds.

_Mesh'in'ga. Ki de nracha.**_

_Bastard, _she seethed, _I hate you._

_I hate you so much for what you've done.  
_

He only laughed.

* * *

A week, as it turned out, was not the fated day.

Either was two.

Or even _three_.

They did, however, gain a lot of new people around the digsite as the days passed. And a vast majority of them weren't savory characters. Riley yawned and stretched, shaking her head as she tried to stay awake. She'd been up for a solid eighteen hours now - but who could blame her? For as long as she'd been on her father's dig, she had been absolutely enthralled with the door.

She couldn't get enough of it. She stared at pictures, consulted texts, and accessed the net in an attempt to translate. . . well, no, she wasn't really translating. And therein lied the absolute amazement of it all: there was no way to translate what she was looking at. She'd tried everything - Aztec, Mayan, Incan. . . Latin, Arabic, _ French _\- and languages she didn't even _know_. Nothing came close. And that was just the _language_.

She would have been quick to dismiss the door as a hoax, but her father had showed her samples of the rock, geological survey results that have proved the rock had not been moved, it was as old as the cavern that it had been carved into. The door was situated inside of a small cave, the opening of which was hardly more than thirty feet tall. It had been hewed as smoothly as human hands could allow (falling into line with most other architecture and building methods of the ancient Neaplese) but the door itself was a smooth as polished marble.

And _then _that wasn't even accounting for how the runes were _lasered _ into the fucking rock. Which was just. . . scientifically impossible. Never mind the fact that lasers weren't going to be invented for another few thousands of years. . . it was a lot to take in. And it left a lot of questions unanswered for the dig crew.

Absently, the teen heard a commotion outside of her tent, and she perked up, looking at the entrance of her small abode. By Nepalese standards, it was somewhat lavish, but to Riley's standards, it was just right. She was parked right next to her father's tent, and whereas his was firmly cared for and organized, Riley's was a well-loved mess. A heat lantern sat in the middle of the floor, and an array of her clothes hung from the tent's poles, dangling from the ceiling. A multitude of papers, books, maps, charts, and other assorted knickknacks were scattered everywhere. Riley operated best in organized chaos.

The only thing that had been meticulously organized and cared for was her dig gear. Her coat and backpack full to gear were situated right next to the tent's entrance. Whenever she got back 'home', she made sure everything was cleaned, stocked, and re-packed. Her dad had ensured that she was well-prepared.

The flap opened, and she spotted Suraj, standing just outside. Riley started, glancing down at her watch. . . oh. Deflating in relief, she nodded. He was fifteen minutes early. She and Suraj were supposed to go to the door and investigate it - it was something of a daily ritual, actually. She would go, her friend would accompany her, and they'd both try to pick apart the language as best as they were able. . . which, literally speaking, meant she and Suraj stared at the door and wondered, "_what the fuck did this?_"

Suraj raised his voice - but somebody else cut over him. Riley sat up, letting her pencil danger between her fingers. Moments later, the entrance to her tent flapped open, and an old Nepalese woman barged in, snapping at Suraj, who wined back a reply - but one level look from the old woman had Suraj standing silently, his lips pressed into a thin line. Turning to her, the old woman smiled warmly.

"Namaste.**" Riley said, rising to her feet. "Namaste, Old Mother. Timi lai kasto cha?**"

The Nepalese woman, wrinkled with age and time, reached forward and grabbed her hands, squeezing affectionately. "Good, I am good, my child. Come, come, sit."

Old Mother ushered her forward, into one of the small chairs Riley had in her tent, and obediently, she sat. Immediately, the woman began to take her hair and plait it.

"Mama," Suraj said, voice bordering on a whine, "No time. We going!"

"There is always time." Old Mother said, her voice soft and accented.

Old Mother, Riley had been pleased (and surprised) to discover, had once been very young, and somewhat wealthy. She had studied for years in local English schools, and when she'd had the money, had studied English in America. But time and life had changed many things, and she'd soon found herself in Nepal again, raising a great number of children. She might not have gotten anywhere with her English education, but as she had told Riley before, she was happy with what she had learned. "_Life is a journey_," She'd told Riley once, "_And I savor every step of it, bitter or sweet_."

"Thank you, Old Mother." Riley said, smiling at the sulking Suraj. "I'm afraid I can't braid my hair the way you do without mirrors."

"As always, I enjoy it. It has been a long while since I have had a daughter to care for."

Riley beamed at Suraj, and the other teen crossed his arms, looking moody.

Another fact about Old Mother's brood: there had only been one daughter out of her seven sons, and that daughter had moved to another region of Nepal many years ago. Riley, ignoring Suraj's pouting, leaned back and relaxed, loving the feeling of another person caring for her hair. Suraj looked like the spitting image of Old Mother: they shared the same hair, the same facial structure, and even the same kind, expressive rich brown eyes.

"Have you had much success with the door?" Old Mother asked. Riley kept her eyes closed, feeling boneless and relaxed.

"No, but today we're going to try and open it."

"Ah, so today is finally the day."

Riley chuckled. "I hope so. My father can hardly contain himself."

"Your father is a good man," Old Mother replied, "He treats the Nepalese well. . . unlike the soldiers."

Riley opened her eyes and frowned, mirroring Suraj's disgust. Nobody had expected the soldiers to come, but they had, and in numbers nobody had expected.

The digsite had been transformed in the past three weeks, turning from archaeological expedition to para-military camp. Soldiers demanded that people coming to and from the dig remain carefully counted and tracked. It was incredibly common for soldiers to construct pat-downs to ensure nobody was "taking cultural artifacts" from the cavern. . . Which was a fucking joke, considering the door wasn't even _open_. Not only that, but they guarded the perimeter of the dig fiercely, had installed curfews, and weren't afraid to punish those that dared to disobey it.

As Riley Landon, Henry Landon's daughter, Riley had special privileges, but she hated them. Archaeology wasn't about soldiers with guns, floodlights, or security checks. It was about digging in the dirty and trying to figure out ancient cultures!

"We're trying to talk with the benefactor of the dig, find out what the hell happened. They're just giving us the runaround. I hate them as much as you, Old Mother."

The woman chuckled, and pat her shoulders, indicating she was done. Riley stood, ignoring Suraj's impatient jostling, and took Old Mother's hands in her own, squeezing them. The woman smiled back at her in turn.

"Do not worry. The Nepalese are hardy people, and we have weathered worse storms than this. Now go, my daughter. I believe you have a door to investigate."

Suraj let loose a stream of words in her language, and Riley wasn't fluent, but she picked up on a few that translated pretty closely to, '_finally!_'

Riley leaned in, pecking the woman on the cheek and giving her a bright smile before bidding her goodbye. Glad to have her hair out of her face and braided (making for an easy time cramming herself into tight nooks and crannies to explore), Riley grabbed her thick winter coat and slipped into it, and made quick work of shouldering her backpack as she and Suraj made their way outside. The digsite was a bustle of activity, like it was normally, only now soldiers milled about, geared with protective vests and toting around menacing black guns.

Riley moved by them, uncaring, and forced Suraj to walk to her left so they wouldn't grab him for a "random security check."

Racist assholes, if you asked Riley. They interrogated every Nepalese person that crossed their path, but didn't ask any of the _white people _where the hell they were going or what the fuck they were doing. It was almost as if they suspected the mountain folk of hiding something.

So long as she made it explicitly apparent that she and Suraj were walking together, the soldiers didn't bother them. . . Well, that, and the soldiers had learned early on that Henry Landon did not appreciate his daughter being at the mercy of the guard dogs. Something he'd made explicitly clear to the benefactor of the dig after the first incident.

Riley had been talking to Suraj, eagerly bouncing her ideas and theories off of him. He didn't understand 90% of what she was saying, but it helped her organize her thoughts. The pair had been heading to the mess tent to grab some food when they'd been intercepted by soldiers. She hadn't understood what bullshit excuse they'd tried to use: something about frisking him to ensure he was following security protocols. They'd grabbed the teen, and when he'd made a fearful squeak, Riley had reacted, trying to free him.

One second she was trying to pry muscled arms off of her friend, and the next, another pair was grabbing her roughly and trying to "subdue" her. And Riley had shown him exactly why that was a bad idea. In a flurry of movement, she'd broken his leg and dislocated his arm for his troubles. It had been sheer luck that her father had been just a few feet away - things probably would have gotten a lot uglier.

Riley had walked away with a bloody nose and a nice bruise on her cheek, but she'd grinned at them all the same. Apparently, their soldier guard dogs weren't very well informed.

Henry had had to leave his baby girl for months at a time with his sister. . . and he constantly fretted and feared for his daughter's safety. The only responsible, parental choice to make was to enroll her in practically every self-defense and martial arts course that existed around Riley. She was a loyal member of a skilled and hard-working MMA gym, and a long-time member of an equally reputable taekwondo school. Riley had been training in martial arts since she could talk.

Though, she was fairly sure if she tried the same stunt now, she wouldn't be able to walk out of it with just a bloody nose and a bad bruise. But at the very least, she could fight back. The Nepalese, however. . .

Tucking Suraj firmly against her side, Riley made a beeline for the main tent. It was the nerve center of the dig - all of the maps, intel, graphs, and sign-in boards were there. A few soldiers passed them, giving them hard stares, but Riley mirrored them, scowling. Fucking assholes. Still, they made it to the tent without issue, where Riley ducked past a few Sherpas as she found the sign-in boards. Easiest way to keep track of who was where and their plans for the day.

_Main cavern: Henry Landon_.

Of course. Her father's neat handwriting had his name clearly signed right next to it. The time reflected he'd been gone for about two hours.

Riley felt a tug at her elbow and peeked over at Suraj.

"Look, Rileh," Suraj said, pointing, "Many peoples moving."

Riley looked out the tent, watching as a few soldiers started booking it up the trail. Gesturing for Suraj to follow, Riley dashed outside and followed both soldiers and dig workers alike as they made it up the main trail and to the cavern. Up at the top of the slope people were gathered in a thick cluster, voices loud, confused - some angry. Others scared.

"C'mon." She said, breaking into a jog. Suraj followed her, sticking close to her side as she ascended the slope. The soldiers were trying to keep people from entering the tunnel, but being as that there were only two guard dogs (at the moment) and about a hundred dig workers trying to gain entrance. . . it was no easy task to keep them out. Riley, waiting for an opportunity, ducked down into the crowd and yanked Suraj along behind her, dashing into the cave.

A wall of freezing air smacked into them. Despite it being summer, the cave was absolutely frigid. It had a lovely temperature of 32 degrees consistently, which was incredibly odd, given that the digsite averaged a temperature of 60 - 72 degrees. So how it was so cold. . . well, it was anybody's guess. The geologists were saying something about an underground glacier or something. This dig had proved more problematic for more than scientific field. Riley had a theory it had to do with the depth of the cave beyond the door, and their proximity to Mt. Everest.

Suraj cast a worried glance behind him.

"Rileh, we not have done that."

"_Should _not have done that, my friend. But we totally just did, so. . . C'mon. Dad was signed in, so we're going in. I'd like to see them stop me."

More frenzied dig workers sprinted to and fro in the tunnel, but Riley kept a steady jog as she and Suraj descended to the door. From the tunnel's entrance, the door was only a half mile down, and the way leading to it was studded with bright white LED lanterns that illuminated every nook and cranny. Riley tried to keep herself from getting nervous, but it wasn't working. She didn't know what the hell had everyone worked up, but it had to be big.

And where was her father?

It only felt like moments before the door loomed ahead of them - but Riley skidded to a halt, damn near tripping over the uneven cavern floor.

A tight semicircle of soldiers surrounded it, snapping and growling and pushing at any worker who dared get too close. People were yelling, tensions were raised, but Riley hardly noticed any of it. For a moment, she was utterly taken aback. The door was _open_. They'd managed to crack open the door - that would explain why people were in a frenzied excitement. . . but it didn't give a reason for the fear.

Scanning the crowds, she looked around, but she couldn't see the one person she was looking for. Frowning, and her anxiety growing, Riley dashed forward, snagging the first dig crew member she found. It was a Sherpa - he looked frightened, his face pale.

"Hey! Hey, where is my father?"

The man babbled in Nepalese, too quick for her to translate - not that she could, given that she'd only been there a month or two - but she turned to Suraj expectantly. The fifteen-year-old stepped up, grabbed the man around his arms and asked him a question. The worker took a while, but he finally responded, stuttering the whole time. Riley bounced back and forth on her feet, biting the inside of her cheek, and waited impatiently.

Finally, Suraj released the man, who shook his head, babbling again, and took off at a sprint for the mouth of the tunnel.

"Suraj, what did he say?" Riley demanded. The teen looked at her, hesitating, and her stomach dropped. "_Suraj!_"

"He say. . . He say they open door."

"Yes, yes, and. . .?"

"And crew go. Your father go. The radio. . . Many scream. And nobody come up."

Gunshots cracked through the tunnel, making her ears ring, and Riley jerked, whirling to the soldiers.

And for the very first time in her life, Riley finally understood what the expression, "earth falling out from under your feet" meant.

* * *

"Rileh, we not do this. Dangerous. Bad!"

"We _can _not, but we so, so _are_." She hissed back.

Suraj shifted next to her, one of his hands curled around her arm and squeezing in nervousness. Night had fallen, and the pair of them were crouched behind a rock, hiding from one of the glaring spotlights. It was by sheer luck that the pair hadn't been caught yet and rounded up with all the others. But Suraj was a lot stealthier than Riley had given him credit for - the teen had somehow kept them tucked away into the hillside.

Old Mother had played a critical role in their escape. And here she was, about to disregard everything the woman had done.

Riley closed her eyes, pressing her forehead against a sharp rock as she breathed in deeply, listening to the semi-distant voices of soldiers barking orders and forcing people to get into hastily-erected quarantine tents. . .

_Riley breathed heavily as she stared at the body that fell. The dig worker clutched at her arm, blood leaking out from under her fingers and staining her yellow jacket. _

_"Move! Move move _move!" _The soldier snapped. More shots were fired, the ringing in her ears growing worse, her heart hammering in her chest. What the hell was going on? _

_Dig workers moved away from the soldiers - and Riley blinked in surprise when hands grabbed her. _

_"Riley! Christ, kid, get the fuck out of here. Move!" _

_She saw his face - and somehow, she remembered him. His name was Greg. Greg Hally. Riley tried to protest, but Greg ushered both her and Suraj the other way, back to the opening of the cavern. _

_"My dad-" _

_"Is fine. Jesus, what the fuck is going on. They _fired _at us, hit Jess-" _

_Greg's words stopped short as they came to the entrance of the tunnel. Soldiers were suddenly swarming around them, forcing them into a human funnel, voices barking at them, guns pointed in their directions, fingers on the trigger. . . Riley's voice shriveled up in her throat as she clung to Suraj, and Greg ushered them forward, trying to keep them away from the soldiers. They'd made it about halfway down the trail when Riley noticed the soldiers erected white tents, carting in equipment and supplies she hadn't even known they'd possessed. _

_And in another twist of fate, the voices suddenly swelled and raised, screams erupting - and Riley got a front row seat to two Sherpas running, breaking rank. . . and a mist of red cloud erupting from their chests as the soldiers shot them. _

_Horror flooded through her. _

_Panic and fear spread through the rest of the dig workers like a rabid dog, and soon Greg was jostled away from them. Soldiers barked and screamed, trying to get people back into rank, and Riley prayed they would be able to. She held onto Suraj, who wrapped her arms around her, and she hoped for the best- _

_A hand grabbed her neck, and Riley squeaked, just barely managing to suppress the urge to lash out. That would have involved letting Suraj go. And in this crowd. . . _

_"Come!" A voice ordered, old and feminine, "Come quickly!" _

_Suraj startled in her arms. "Moth-" _

_"_Now!_" She snapped, leaving no room to argue. _

_Old Mother didn't wait for Riley or Suraj to answer. She just started pulling, one hand wrapped firmly in Riley's coat, and Riley stubbornly refusing to let Suraj go. Deftly, the old Nepalese woman skirted around the crowd and dashed behind a tent, where she shoved at the two. _

_"Go! Run. Don't look back, children!" _

_"Mama-" _

_Voice shouted, and Old Mother spun around, heading back to the chaos. Riley felt her heart fracturing. She had no idea what the fuck was happening, but Old Mother had bought them enough time to leave the camp. And she'd be fucked if she didn't do it. _

_Suraj cried out, calling to his mother, resisting, but Riley was stronger than he was. She pulled him along, and after a minute, he fell into step, sobs leaving his tiny body as he led the way, the sun setting over the Himalayas. . . _

Riley opened her eyes and expelled a breath. Those bodies still felt burned into her mind, engraved in her eyes.

The worst part was not knowing _why. _

She could clearly see a quarantine symbol on the tents they'd erected and soldiers wearing hazmat suits. . . But what contaminants were there? They were in the _mountains_, and Henry Landon ordered all workers (be they native or foreign) to get inoculations before they came to his digs. Nobody was sick. Riley could understand the deaths if they were carrying ebola or some magical never-discovered super-bug that was going to wreak as much devastation as the Black Plague. . .

But she knew that wasn't the answer.

Riley shifted behind the rock, carefully examining the soldier's patrol routes. There was a heavy security presence outside, but most of the guards were tending to the dig site workers inside of the tents. Which meant, if her math was correct, that there was a thin task force inside of the cave. . . easy pickings. She hoped. If her plan worked, anyway. She and Suraj had to time this perfectly. Once they were inside, she didn't give a rat's ass about what the hell happened, or what alarms they set off.

"Rileh, the wind moves." Suraj whispered.

She thought that the teen would protest more vehemently, demand that she listen to Old Mother and the two would run far away. . . But the closest village was well over twenty miles away. And they had limited supplies. Riley knew they wouldn't be able to make it.

"Wind moves?" She echoed, looking at him and frowning.

Suraj pointed to the lip of a distant hill, his face pale. "Spirits. They watch us."

Riley stared at where he was pointing, but she didn't see anything. She shook her head and examined the dig site a second time. "I don't have time for ghosts, Suraj. C'mon, let's move. We need to snag two grenades there, see them?" She pointed to a small arms cache that the soldiers repeatedly checked into, and laying at the very top of a crate were grenades of some kind. She had no idea what they were, but they'd work just fine for her plans.

"We're going to get them, get to the door next, and I'm gonna kill whoever gets in my way. I need to find my dad." She swore. She gestured for him to move, but Suraj grabbed her arm.

"Old Mother. . . She there. She say no?"

Ah, there it was.

"Suraj, if anybody can stop this mess, it's my _dad_. He's in that cave. And we have to go find him. Tell him the soldiers went ballistic. We're _going_."

She didn't wait for him to reply. She didn't have time for that - what if soldiers had. . . in the cave? Maybe those were the screams. . . Ha. No. No way would her father die like that. He wasn't even dead, anyway. She knew he was alive. Suraj would understand when they found her dad - Henry Landon would be able to get this all under control. She just had to get to him. Riley started slinking away, but in a heartbeat, Suraj was ahead of her.

He was much more adept at crawling down the rocky cliffsides, and was three times more quiet than she was - but Riley let him take point. Quickly and carefully, the duo made their way down to the camp, and darted their way in and out of tents, using them as cover.

It was actually pathetically easy. The soldiers were busy in the quarantine tent, taking people away and shuffling them back in, and with the ruckus the dig crew was making, Riley was able to snag two grenades from the pile. Rushing back to a tent, Riley rejoined Suraj, and flicked on a tiny pen light. One of the grenades she'd grabbed was a flashbang, and the other was a. . . smoke? A flashbang and a smoke grenade. Whatever. She could make that work.

"You have?" Suraj whispered. Riley nodded, flicking off the pen light and clipping a grenade to her belt. She'd use them both. The instructions were easy - and even printed on the can. Pull the pin, flick the switch, and throw. There was a three second cook time, and it promised a minimum of five minutes of cover. It was all she needed. Not without a heart, Riley passed Suraj the smoke grenade, and gave him a nod.

It was time to go.

It was odd, how easy it was. But together, the pair ducked and weaved through rocks and shadows and tents, watching to make sure the coast was clear. The darkness that had fallen helped add another layer of cover, aiding their efforts. Little by little, they made it closer and closer to the tunnel. And eventually, despite the odds, they _ made _it. Even Riley was surprised. Battle-hardened soldiers, letting two kids skate through their guard? It sounded like the stuff of bad novels.

Behind her, Suraj whispered about the moving wind, and Riley shot him a glare. "Not now, dude."

Wisely, her friend shut up. She felt a little bad about the stung expression on his face, but she shook her head. No time to worry about that - she'd make it up to him later. Riley crept up to the entrance of the tunnel, palming her grenade.

"Okay. We're going to run down the entrance, and I'm going to throw this, and then we're going to run in. It's not a great plan, but it's the only one I've got."

Suraj looked at her blankly. "Scuse?"

Riley shook her head. "Just follow me."

And with that, she took off at a sprint. there was no telling what they'd find when they got into the tunnel, but she wasn't stupid enough to assume they'd left the door unguarded. Suraj ran along behind her, and Riley found it felt like only seconds had passed before she was in front of the door, the soldiers yelling out in surprise and shock, scrambling to get to their feet from where they'd been sitting.

"Now, Suraj!" Riley yelled, popping her pin, thumbing the switch, and chucking the grenade. It felt like she was watching everything in slow motion as she watched the grenade rise and fall, joined by a second one just moments later. When it hit the ground, Riley shoved herself against Suraj and pinned him against the wall, clamping her hands over her ears and wrenching her eyes shut.

She felt Suraj mimic her, just barely managing to cover his ears before the grenades detonated. She felt the pressure of the blast, her ears popped and began to ring, and she saw the bright flash momentarily turn her vision of red.

That was Riley's first experience with a grenade. And maybe it was the desperation to find her dad, maybe it was the adrenaline - hell, maybe it was because she'd clutched her hands over her ears so tightly she was sure they'd started bleeding. But she took off at a sprint. It looked as though a metric ton of dry ice had hit the surface of a lake - smoke and fog had exploded everywhere, covering everything in a thick cloud. Riley ran straight into it, not even stopping. She came across a soldier who'd been unable to pull down his mask in time, and she viciously jammed her hand into his windpipe.

It felt good. More than good - it felt great. After that they'd done to the dig workers, after everything. . .

Suraj, smart and fast, held onto her belt as she dashed through the cloud, jumping over her victim. And in moments, they were through the door, plunging into the darkness. Riley didn't stop, even though she knew it was stupid. It was idiotic to go running into a cave not knowing what lied around the corner. She ran her hand along the wall as she jogged on, knowing distance was what was going to save them.

A bright light speared through the darkness, and voices barked at them - so did the crack of a gun. Something hit the ground dangerously close to her foot, and Suraj gasped, panicking, but Riley whirled around, latching onto his shirt and started dragging him, determined to go into the cave.

That, she supposed, was her downfall.

Literally.

One moment, the floor was there, and the next it was just. . . gone. Riley was unashamed to admit that she screamed, terrified, as she plummeted down into the darkness - but it was cut short as she collided with a hard surface, again and again. Her head cracked against it, and reality quickly slipped from her grasp. Numbly, however, she felt herself hit the floor and remain still.

She laid there, feeling a hot prickling spreading on her scalp.

Moments later, however, hands grabbed her, and a bright light pierced her eyes - Riley scrambled to get away from the soldier, her movements jerky and disoriented.

"Rileh! Rileh! Is me!" A voice finally pierced the fog of her brain.

"Suraj?" She asked groggily. She blinked, and held a hand in front of her face, shielding her eyes. Suraj pointed his light away, and Riley blinked, scrubbing at her face.

How the hell. . . What the fuck had happened? Eventually, the world came into focus, and she looked at Suraj, concern flooding through her.

"Oh my god, sit still. Don't move."

The teen's face was bloody, streams of red dripping down his nose and lips. He must have hit his head, just as she had. Riley was quick to dab away the blood around his nose, and it was obvious that it was broken, but there was nothing she could do for him. She didn't know how to set noses. Though it hurt, he would have to live with it for right now.

Same went for her, too.

"Rileh. . . hurted?" Suraj touched her head, and Riley jerked herself back with a hiss of pain. He looked at her, equally concerned, and Riley glanced down at his hands, finding blood.

She shook her head. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Suraj. . . How did we. . ."

"Felled." Suraj said, pointing his flashlight behind them, at a rock wall. "There. See?"

Yes. About thirty feet above them, a ledge was present. . . Though Riley had no idea how they'd survived the fall. She could see several rocky protrusions on the way down - and. . . !

"Ropes! Oh my god, look, Suraj, those are ropes! The dig team was here. C'mon, we gotta get up and find my dad!"

"Before soljur come." Suraj agreed, tenderly making his way up to his feet.

The pair got up, and Riley fished her own flashlight out her bag, clipping it to her backpack strap. Their breath curled in the air, and Riley shivered. It felt like it was hovering closer to zero degrees rather than 32. They moved forward, continuing into a tunnel, a little aching and bruised, but otherwise doing alright. Silence followed them, and Riley paused, turning to look behind her, at the ledge, but she didn't see any beams of light or hear any surprised yells.

_Where are the soldiers? _She thought. But then she shook her head - whatever, it didn't matter. What _did _matter was finding her father and the dig crew.

The tunnel was smooth, and fringed with Riley guessed was Nepalese, Mayan, Incan, and Aztec architecture. Which was just as confusing as the door itself, considering that their cultures had never mixed. _Ever_. Riley shook her head a second time - she didn't have time to start fretting about that. She had more important things to worry about. The tunnel sloped gently downward, and in just seconds, it morphed into something else entirely.

One moment, it was a tunnel, and then it simply evolved into a temple. Riley stood there, momentarily shellshocked as she stared at the grand, rich construction. It, like so many other things, was just so. . . alien. The temple was odd in shape - they were standing on an upper tier, circular in design, and roughly eight feet below them, there laid another terrace. The design repeated, shrinking in circumference, until it stopped at a pit in the center. Each terrace was ringed with doors - Riley couldn't count them all.

Suraj appeared just as starstruck, and he approached a wall - where murals were cut into the rock. He whispered something in Nepalese, running his bare hand across the lasered art. Riley was quickly becoming familiar with the medium - human tools in ancient times could never engrave something so solidly into stone.

"Spirits," Suraj said, "Wind spirits."

"Old myths of gods, probably." Riley agreed, looking at the etchings. "Look, it's fighting a serpent. But serpents aren't really native to Nepalese culture. . . That's Aztec and Maya and Incan territory."

Suraj shook his head, a sign he didn't understand much of what she said, and Riley followed suit. Suraj needed her to break things down into small chunks for him to absorb. Old Mother had bemoaned the fact that her son was very staunchly against learning English. . . until Henry Landon and the dig had set up shop.

_Old Mother. . . _Just thinking about her sent a knife of pain in Riley's heart.

She took a breath and exhaled. She wasn't going to call it quits on anybody until she found her dad. They still had to find the dig crew and solve the soldier problem. Digging around in her pack, Riley pulled out a glowstick, popped it, and after a brief shake, dropped it on the ground.

"C'mon, Suraj, we've got places to go. Those glowsticks in your pack? Break them and drop them. That's how we'll find our way back." Riley pointed to the ground, knowing most of what she said was lost, but he nodded his head.

They were going to play a very modern version of Hansel and Gretel. As they continued along, Riley did her best to ignore the structure around her and focused on finding her father. But it was difficult. . . primarily because it was so _foreign. _There was no way that human hands had built what she was seeing, as evidenced by the laser etchings and rocks that were most definitely not from Nepal.

She and Suraj popped glowsticks as they continued, climbing down from one shelf to the next, peeking into a few doors, but seeing no disturbance in dust or evidence that her father and the dig crew had passed through. A small well of frustration and dread began growing inside of her: what if they never found her dad? The temple looked much, much bigger than she thought it would have been. . .

Steeling herself, she moved on. She had to, if she had any hope of finding her dad. If she didn't. . . there was no way she was going back to the soldiers. Hell, if her father and the dig team made it this far, she was fairly certain that they'd found another exit. It was ridiculous and stupid to build a tunnel, enclosure. . . and. . . and. . .

She paused again, looking at the temple.

They were standing in a giant, domed atrium that was simply _massive_. Hundreds, if not thousands, of doors surrounded them, each leading into their own tunnel. Riley stood there stupidly, gawking in wonder. Briefly, she wondered if her father had done the same thing.

Suraj tapped her arm, and she gave herself a shake. Her companion pointed to something - a glowstick. One that was blue, not green.

Hope flared through her in a heartbeat. The glowstick was still bright - indicative it wasn't very old.

"Dad uses blue glowsticks! Suraj, you're amazing. Let's get over to it."

It was down another terrace, and about twenty doors over.

Riley dangled herself over the edge and eased herself onto the lower level while Suraj popped a glowstick and threw it in front of the doorway they'd been standing by. Riley was sore as they made their way over, but finally, after what felt like an eternity, they were standing in front of the blue glowstick. Riley picked it up, examining it.

They used industrial-grade glowsticks, lasting upwards of fifteen hours or more. And so far the light hadn't faded any, meaning it was only a few hours old. From the last time she'd seen her father, she had to guess he'd been gone maybe five hours. . . perhaps longer.

"Riley. . . rope." Suraj whispered.

Riley dropped the glowstick, discarding it, and her heart froze as she looked at the ledge, where a rope had been secured into the rock. It was moving, wriggling, creaking as weight pulled on it.

"Something's coming up." She rasped, her stomach dropping.

* * *

_Namaste == _is the Nepalese way of saying hello and goodbye.

_Timi lai kasto cha?_ == means "How are you?" in Nepalese.

M_esh'in'ga. __Ki de __nracha._ == The battle dream time. I am relentless.


	4. The Bitter Truth

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**:She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Language, thoughts/attempted suicide.

**Author's Notes:** Oh boy. This is the longest chapter I've written so far. Whoops. Anyway, I'll let you get into it.

Next chapter, action gets rolling. But I had to tie up some loose ends. I'm excited to start exploring their relationship. It's different. But anyway, not much to say, thank you guys for all of your reviews, though!

* * *

"We don't even know how strong we are until we are forced to bring that hidden strength forward. In times of tragedy, of war, of necessity, people do amazing things. The human capacity for survival and renewal is awesome."  
-Isabel Allende

* * *

_I'm really fucking tired of doing this with you_, she snapped, anger rushing through her.

It felt good to feel it, if only for a second. It gave her something else to focus on, to forget what she was remembering. . .

He snapped back at her, lashing out, but she didn't even flinch. She was used to it - the pain it caused wasn't much in the grand scheme of things. Before, in the beginning, it had left her incapacitated for hours. She'd never felt so humiliated as she'd come to, drool oozing out of her mouth, her body limp and ragdolled across the floor. Other time she'd clutched at her head, fingernails scraping her scalp in an attempt to make the pain leave. . . But now? Now, it was minuscule compared to the physical pain she endured every day.

The odd mental attacks were just. . . strange. Something she wasn't quite sure she'd ever get accustomed to.

_No, seriously,_ she continued, _why do you keep doing this to me? There's no point. Unless you want to make me depressed and suicidal. . . oh wait. You've already done that. Thank you _so _much. I'm tired of being here. I'm tired of _you_. I'm tired of the White Coats, of the surgeries, of _everything. _I want an out! _

She felt a slow, burning anger radiating from him, coupled with a strong rash of frustration. . . Well then, that made two of them.

Riley breathed slowly, laying on the bed and trying her best to stop the room from swirling. Every time, it was the same. Whenever they went poking around in her skull, or cut open another part of her body, she'd get just a few minutes to lay on the gurney before they wheeled her ass back into the Room. Maybe the surgeons were taking a quick break, or the White Coats were looking at her paperwork. . . she didn't know.

But she did care. Only because it offered her a change of scenery, because she got to look at something other than the Room.

She stared at the bloody gauze bandages, at the scalpels and clamps that laid just an arm's reach away on a metal tray.

If she could just summon some hidden reservoir of strength, she could slide her hand over and grab the scalpel that gleamed in the light, stained with her blood. And then she could finally take herself out of this hellhole. It was already coated in her blood. . . what was the difference in taking it to her neck and arms before the White Coats could stop her?

Motivation kindled, she began to slide her hand across the bed, her fingers itching to reach the metal scalpel. An elated giddiness stole through her. Finally. _Finally_. Inch by glorious inch, her hand moved, coming closer and closer to her goal.

And just as quickly, a fierce, biting pain seared through her head, and she hissed, wrenching her eyes shut and fighting back tears. It felt like explosions had been set off behind her temples, and she bit back a scream. Somebody had to be rubbing the inside of her skull with sandpaper. What else could elicit a pain like this? Had the White Coats noticed? Was that what they had done to her - installed some kind of new mental-punishment system?

A furious roar answered her question.

_You _idiot_, _she seethed, _just let me do it!  
_

_NO!_, came the infuriated reply, _there is m-di yin'tekai!** You will not die this way!_

In another time, another life, Riley would have been shocked to hear him speaking in English. All through her time of knowing him, he'd only spoken in whatever fucked up alien tongue he called native. But there he was, talking to her in somewhat understandable English. His voice - mentally, at least - sounded. . . kind of pleasant. Strange, accented, and foreign, but pleasant.

Regardless, Riley fought against him, intent on getting the scalpel. He retaliated, escalating his efforts, and finally she yelped, and gave in. It just wasn't worth it at that point - if she tried to move her head, he would crack her brain in half. He was determined to keep her alive.

Just to torture her.

Riley gave in, defeated. There was only so much pain a girl could take.

_You win_, she said, _you just want to make me insane. Fine.  
_

Surprisingly, his fury abated, and Riley regarded him curiously. He'd never cooled off so quickly before. She grew suspicious - and scared - when she felt a thin thread of confidence radiate from him.

_There's more_, he continued, _so much more you do not know, Ooman._

_Like what?  
_

_The truth._

Riley closed her eyes and sucked in a steadying breath, trying to shake the last of the pain from her body. _What truth? This is it. We're being experimented on. I can talk to an alien in my head. What _else _is there to know?  
_

The door opened, and she heard footsteps enter. Riley wisely kept her eyes shut and laid perfectly still as they approached her, hoping she wouldn't notice she was awake. But her plan, like so many others before it, failed spectacularly. The very first thing she felt was a warm, latex-gloved hand on her cold arm, and the sting of a needle a second later. A cool, acidic bite spread under her skin, and within seconds, she began to feel dizzy and sleepy.

_What happened that day, Ooman. . . I will show you.  
_

He said something else, but Riley didn't quite hear what he said.

As she closed her eyes, she heard the creaking of the rope, instead. She smelled the frozen air, saw shadows of an ancient, impossibly-carved temple. . .

* * *

"Oh my god, Suraj," Riley said, panicking, her head whipping left and right, "We've got to hide. Where can we hide?" She whispered, fearful her voice would carry.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as her friend grabbed onto her hand and dragged her into a nearby tunnel, where they both hunkered down in the shadows, flipping off their flashlights. Suraj bravely placed Riley behind him, and just for a moment, Riley was grateful. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, but she was glad to just be coddled for a second. She bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted copper, and in front of her, she could feel Suraj shaking as they both crouched in the dark, watching the rope.

_Soldiers_, Riley thought, _it's going to be soldiers. Oh god, Daddy, please be okay. . .  
_

She heard a grunt, a low, very explicit curse, and then a hand popped over the edge of the lip of the step. Riley jumped, and Suraj did too - it took everything she had in her not to cry out in surprise. Shaking her head, she pressed against the wall, breathing in deeply. She had to control herself - what if the soldiers were somewhere near? What if _that _was a soldier? She couldn't afford to give away their position.

There was no telling what would happen to the two of them if the soldiers got them.

Another curse, and the rest of the arm flopped up over the side, followed closely by a head.

A head Riley knew.

"Daddy!" Riley called out, shooting all pretenses of hiding to hell. She jumped to her feet and rushed forward, Suraj scrambling to follow her.

Henry looked shocked - so shocked, in fact, he let go of the rope. Riley dove, crying out in fear, her stomach hitting the stone floor as she latched onto her father's jacket. He flailed, one hand gripping her arm so painfully she was sure it was going to bruise.

Suraj grabbed his other arm, and after a moment of struggle, both teens hauled Henry Landon back up onto the terrace. Riley breathed heavily, rolling over onto her side and looking down into the pit. Her first assumption about the underground temple had been wrong. The steps didn't go all the way to the bottom. They stopped right there, and there was a solid thirty foot wall leading to the ground floor, where the central pit and hole resided.

In the dark, Riley saw moving shadows, but her father grabbed her shoulder, yanking her up and clutching her to him for all he was worth. Riley choked, wanting to separate from him, but she heard him exhale a shaky sob.

"Oh my god, Riley. _Riley. _Christ, I never thought I'd see you again." Her father croaked, raw emotion bleeding in his voice.

Inexplicably, tears burned in her eyes. Riley wrenched them shut and wrapped her arms around her father as best as she was able. "Me too, Daddy. . ."

She heard Suraj shift next to them, and that brought her back to the present. Riley allowed herself just another second of being squeezed, and then she wriggled in his hold. "Dad. Daddy, something's wrong. The soldiers quarantined everyone at the dig-"

Her father tensed, freezing, as though she'd slapped him across the face. He pulled away from her, hands frantically scrabbling over her face. "They didn't do anything to you, did they? What the fuck - is that blood? Riley . . . Christ."

Riley shared a glance with Suraj, and she swallowed, trying to keep her fear at bay. "Daddy, stop. I don't understand what's going on. What happened? Where are the rest of the dig crew?"

At that, his face went white as a sheet. Henry Landon just sat there, his eyes growing glassy and faraway as he stared off beyond Riley, into the darkness of the temple.

"Dad. Daddy." Riley said, shaking him. "_Dad. _What _happened?_"

He shook his head, clutching her fiercely, as though he were afraid that she would disappear. She winced, but didn't voice her pain.

"We have to leave. We're going. Riley, oh my god, what are you fucking _doing _here? No, no, we're leaving. Suraj? Suraj, stay close. You and Riley stay together. Don't let each other out of your sights. Do you hear me?" As Henry spoke, he yanked them all up to their feet, and Riley grabbed Suraj's hand as he began to pull them to the terrace wall, mumbling to himself. Anything he said aloud wasn't really spoken to them.

It almost sounded like gibberish, and it terrified Riley. She was severely confused - she didn't really think she understood anything that was going on. Suraj and she shared a glance, and then she looked back to her father.

"Daddy, calm down. It's okay. The soldiers aren't chasing us - just calm down, okay? Tell me what's happening."

"No time to explain. C'mon. We have to go. You two, how did you - glowstick. I see. Riley-"

"No, Dad!" Riley snapped, snatching her hand back as Henry reached for it, "Tell me what's going on!"

"Riley, there isn't _time-_"

"_Make time!_" She said, her voice escalating into a shout.

Her father stared at her, shocked, and Riley stared back. Her voice echoed through the temple, reminding her of where they were. What she'd done to get to him. The people she'd watch die.

"Suraj and I fought through soldiers, Dad. I used a grenade. We fell - I probably have a concussion. Suraj has a broken nose. So just take a few seconds and _explain_." Her voice warbled, and she fought against tears as she recalled everything that had happened, of the lives that had been lost.

Her father looked at her, shocked. Inwardly, Riley was, too. She'd never actively snapped at her father - they always got along really well. Sure, they had their fights, but this was. . . This was different. Here, however, after being chased by soldiers. . . Riley just wanted to know what the fuck was going on. She loved her dad - and she was glad that he was safe - but he obviously knew something, and Riley felt she deserved to know what it was.

He looked as though he were waging an internal war, but finally, he nodded his head.

"Alright. Fine. Just - _please_. Riley, Suraj, I'll talk, but we have to _ move_. I'll explain everything, but there isn't time. Now c'mon. Up. I'll help you."

He knelt down, offering his knee as a stand, and obediently, Riley stepped up. Just a few minutes ago, she and Suraj had descended the steps, and already her body was protesting having to go back _up _the way she'd come. After a moment, however, she hefted herself up over the stone step, and reached around to help Suraj up. Together, the teens grabbed her father and helped him - although he didn't need it much.

Henry Landon spent copious amounts of time in the gym exercising - he could probably bench press her and Suraj combined. As she helped her father up, however, Riley noticed that he was bruised, his jacket was sliced in various placed, and he had a few deep gashes over his face and hands.

"Dad?" Riley asked, reaching out.

He shook his head, and continued on, forcing them to the next step. "I don't know what they are, baby girl. They're something. Aliens, monsters - I don't _know_. But in the pit, there were. . . eggs. The first one hatched and some spider-thing latched onto Jerry's face. Others followed. . . I ran," He said, his tone shaking, "I ran, and I got away. But just a few hours later these black _things _were chasing after me. Baby girl, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Daddy, that doesn't make any sense."

Her father shook his head. "It doesn't. None of it makes sense. But they _knew_. The benefactor fucking knew. He had to. The soldiers. . . God, Weyland-Yutani funded this whole shit show. . . Just keep moving, baby girl. I'm gonna get us out of her. All of us. Up, Suraj."

Aliens? Monsters? Riley stared at her father. "Aliens, Dad? There aren't aliens." She reached to pick her friend up.

"Monsters. Creatures. I don't know what they are, Riley. They're _something_."

Riley shook her head, but headed over to the next step, where her father was already waiting. She jumped up, her arms aching in protest, and then helped Suraj jump up. . . and she saw something. The same shadows as before, but they separated, and became their own entity. And honestly, Riley couldn't explain what it was. Quick and silent as death itself, it slithered up the steps, glistening in the dark. Alien. Foreign. A _monster_.

Suraj yelled in fear, grabbing onto her father, trying to hoist him up, and Riley stuttered, trying to warn him, reaching to grab his jacket.

The creature got him first.

Henry dug his fingers into the platform, and Riley faintly heard herself screaming, trying to tell him to jump up, to _fight_, but in a flash, he was gone, disappearing over the edge and into the dark. Riley's fingers burned from where his jacket had been ripped out her hands, and she sat there, staring numbly at the space where her father had been. In a heartbeat, she was scrambling to get up, to jump down and follow after her father, but Suraj tackled her around the waist, pinning her to the ground.

Riley fought against him, incomprehensible words leaving her mouth as she tried to free herself, but Suraj was screaming too, terrified.

"Rileh! Rileh, _pleese!_"

"_Let go!_" Riley yelled, throwing a hard elbow into his stomach, "Suraj, where's my dad?! He just. . . He was _there!_ _I saw it! Right there! Suraj, he was _there! _Dad! Daddy!_"

"More! More demons, Rileh! _Look!_"

She didn't have to.

A tail, topped with a sharp point, speared the ground right next to her hand, and Riley finally stilled, ice flooding her veins. A taloned hand wrapped around the edge of the terrace, and out of the darkness, another dark, glistening mass arose. She came face to face with a head that had no eyes, but its lip pulled back witha menacing hiss, revealing two sets of teeth. . .

Riley screamed.

* * *

Riley had never been much of a runner, but there she was, dashing out into the unknown, running faster than she ever had before. Her breaths rasped in her throat, scouring her lungs. The freezing air stung her face and made her throat burn, but as much as it hurt, she had to keep going. Suraj, quicker, faster, and much more likely to survive, kept pulling her along, his hand practically super glued to her own. Riley honestly sure she was going to make it.

She kept lagging behind, and diligently, Suraj kept pulling her, determined not to leave her.

Behind them, so close she could practically feel their teeth on her neck, were the creatures, hissing and snarling and growling and shrieking. Demons, Suraj had called them. Demons straight from the pits of hell itself. Suraj yanked her arm so hard she almost felt her shoulder dislocate from her socket, but Riley was grateful for it.

A tail tried to spear her leg through, attempting to maim her so it could sink its teeth into her.

Their flashlights, clipped to their backpack straps, bounced along the walls, making Riley half-dazed as she tried to see exactly what was going on. But every time she looked, there was always some bright, dripping piece of black the light landed on, and another _thing _would leap out of the shadows and try to pin her to the ground so it could eviscerate her.

Suraj turned a corner, and Riley promptly collided with his back as he skidded to a halt. Breathlessly, she looked up, and she very nearly shit herself as she saw one of the black creatures looming above them, lips pulled back-

In a fluid movement, it uncurled from the ceiling, tail whipping around in an effort to hit them. Riley, purely functioning on survival instinct, threw herself into Suraj's back and tackled them both to the ground. Adrenaline fueling her efforts, she practically dragged the teen back to his feet and did an abrupt about-turn.

Somehow, they survived the encounter, and they dashed out into the tunnel a second time, Riley taking point. She had no fucking clue where she was going, but so long as there were tunnels, she knew she could run somewhere, keep them alive for just a few minutes longer.

Unfortunately, the setback had given the monsters enough time to catch up.

Riley skidded to a halt, a sharp yell leaving her as she saw her death in front of her.

Suraj, however, dragged her a second time, and Riley followed him blindly, pray and wishing for some sort of escape-

Darkness closed in around her, and the floor fell out from under them.

For the second time that day, Riley screamed as she went plummeting down, unaware of when the ground would come up to meet her - and it did. Painfully.

She laid there, wheezing as she tried to suck air back into her lungs, pain radiating from every nerve of her body. She moved, slowly pushing her hands under her to get onto her hands and knees, and tried to gather her bearings. She could hear muted screeches, sounding above them. Riley tensed, craning her neck back, but the cries of the monsters faded. Just a few feet away from her, she could see Suraj, also picking himself up, his nose bleeding once more.

"Suraj?" She wheezed, "Suraj, you okay?"

"No. . ." He rasped in reply. "Hurt."

"Makes two of us." She whispered.

As Riley picked herself up, the silence that wrapped around both of them was smothering. She wished it hadn't come at all. The quiet gave her a moment to think, to reflect on what had happened. In her mind, she could see herself reaching to grab her father's jacket, could feel the fabric burning against her skin as it had been ripped from her grasp. It was messed up. One second, her father had been there, and the next, he wasn't. He'd just disappeared. He hadn't cried out, yelled to her. . . Just silence. A part of her wanted to deny the fact that her father was dead, but the larger, more rational part, prayed that his death had been swift and painless.

Henry Landon deserved that much.

Despite their situation, Riley collapsed onto her knees beside Suraj, and tears dripped down her cheeks.

Suraj looked up, and his eyes softened, "Rileh. . ."

She shook her head.

"No." She murmured, "It's okay. We're going to get out of here. We're going to live. It's what. . . He told us to do."

The words felt like broken glass on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them. And Suraj, kind, compassionate, caring Suraj, understood. He gave her a hug, wrapping his arms around her waist, and for a moment, Riley just sat there, letting it happen. But she felt the teen's hands shaking, and in that second, she remembered that Suraj was just a kid. He was as lost and scared shitless as she was. He needed somebody to protect him, too. Old Mother was waiting for him on the surface. . . if the soldiers hadn't done something to her.

Shaking her head, she stood, and grabbed her friend.

"We're gonna make it out of this. I swear. Do you hear me?"

Tears glistened in his eyes, but he nodded his head. Riley mussed a hand through his hair, offering as much comfort as she could give him, and then turned her attention to their surroundings.

Wherever they had landed, the creatures hadn't found them yet. Which was a good thing, but it also meant they were probably looking for them, too. Riley cast a look around the room, and noticed her flashlight's plastic casing was cracked, but it still worked. She peered around, and for a moment, she stilled.

Spanning the walls were intricate murals depicting more of the serpents. Only, now that she got a closer look at them, Riley could see the shape and detail of the monsters that had been chasing after them. Her mind flashed back to the entrance of the temple, where she'd seen the same murals, and she tapped Suraj on the shoulder and pointed.

"Suraj. Suraj, read. Translate." She said, gesturing to the writing.

Suraj looked at it, but when he understood, he paced over to the wall, and began to walk along, mumbling to himself in Nepalese. Riley followed behind him, watching as he traced his fingers over the strange mixture of hieroglyphs and alien laser-etching._ Maybe it'll give us the key to destroying them. Or fighting them. Or _something.

"Many temple. This not only temple." Suraj said, speaking slowly to try and make himself understandable, "Temple have. . . have place. To do tings. With serpents."

Riley nodded her head, not quite understanding, but she didn't care about the finer history of the place. Suraj continued. "Wind spirits come. Defeat serpents. Great honor."

"How did the wind spirits kill them?" Riley asked. When Suraj looked at her, confused, Riley mimed stabbing herself in the chest. "Kill. Destroy. Defeat serpents. How?"

"Ah. I read." Suraj replied, running his hands over the wall again. He kept walking further and further into the room, and Riley followed suit, keeping close behind him as he murmured, whispering and translating to himself.

"Suraj?" Riley prompted, swearing she heard some kind of rustling noise behind them, "Please hurry."

"Temple. . . Spirit use hands. Bare hand. And stick."

They hit a juncture in the wall, and Suraj turned. . . And they ran across an altar. For a moment, Riley stared at it, lost at the grandeur and downright _alien_ presentation. But there, she could see the mural of one of the wind spirits, proudly holding some kind of staff. . . which was on the altar. Metal, beautiful, and shining, it gleamed under their flashlights.

"Sticks." Riley whispered reverently. "They're spears."

She reached forward, fingers brushing over the cold metal, and on the surface, she could see what looked like blood. It was dull, and colored forest-green. Speckles of it ran over the sharp points. Had the creature on the mural once wielded this spear? Had the Nepalese dressed themselves as wind spirits and defeated the serpents?

Her fingers itched to grab it, to hold it, to wield it. . . but something dripped onto her hand. Riley rolled her palm over, and another drop of wet goo splashed onto her waiting hand. She rolled her fingers in it, feeling how sticky and _warm_. . . she froze.

Slowly, achingly slowly, she tilted her head back, and there, above her, one of the monsters was attached to the ceiling, mouth pulled back in a snarl. A tail was at the apex of its curl, and without waiting, it speared down. Riley tensed, seeing the end, knowing her life was over - but hands shoved her to the side, and she heard a choked, strangled cry of pain. Next to her, Suraj stiffened before the tail lifted him off the floor.

Riley gasped, and jumped, grabbing his hand. The teen gave a scream as she aggravated his wound. The monster pulled. Suraj's scream grew in volume.

"Suraj! Suraj, no! Please, god, no, Suraj!" She screamed, gripping at her friend's hand for everything she was worth. She could barely hear himself over his screams. Blood sloshed down, splashing on her face and on her jacket, an alarming amount and quantity, but she kept pulling, desperate to have him back.

"Don't let go of my hand! Hold it tighter! _Don't let_-"

The tail lifted, the monster snarled, and with a strength she could only dream of possessing, the tail jerked him up and away. Suraj's hand slipped through her own, and the monster disappeared through a hole in the ceiling.

Riley slumped on the ground, breathing heavily, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Suraj's screams echoed through her ears, searing into her brain.

She was alone.

Riley started shaking as she looked down, seeing the blood on her jacket, her hands. . .

_Suraj is gone, _she thought.

The smothering silence settled again.

_Suraj is _gone.

His blood was warm on her face, her hands. . .

_Just like Daddy. Suraj pushed me out of the way. I should have died.  
_

She thought. . . Riley thought she was going to collapse. She was going to curl up on the floor and give in.

But no.

Pure, unadulterated _rage _poured into her. Everything was going fucking insane today. The digsite, her father, now Suraj. . .

No. _No_. She was tired of being afraid.

Her fear dissipated, and fury replaced it. If she was going to die, she was going to fucking kill as many of them as she could. Before she had even known she'd done it, Riley snatched the spear off of the altar and turned, marching out of the room. Her flashlight casing was cracked, flickering, and cast faintly red light on her surroundings.

The hallway she entered into was identical to all the rest of the pyramid, but she could hear them, right down the hallway. She turned a corner, seeing an open doorway leading back into the main domed, terraced temple, and as if on cue, two of the serpents appeared, magically coming into existence.

Riley stood there, inwardly amazed at her own audacity. Sure, there was fear, but there was just so much anger. . . so much hurt. All of her emotions were blending together, creating a potent, incredible cocktail that had her heart racing.

Suraj's blood burned her through her jacket, and her hands ached where she'd last grabbed her father. Both of them were incredibly reminders of just _who _these fuckers had killed.

The creatures charged her, thinking she was standing still out of fear, out of stupidity. But Riley was done being afraid. She wanted _revenge._ Letting her anger spur her movements, Riley ran forward too, the spear held tightly in her hands.

In the blink of an eye, the first of the creatures was there, right on top of her, and Riley swung the spear - not quickly enough, however. A tail smashed into her rib cage, eliciting a fresh wave of pain, and it sent her flying, crashing into a nearby wall.

Riley wheezed, spots dancing in her eyes, but with the sheer amount of adrenaline and fury in her veins, she hardly felt it. She forced herself to get up, to swing the spear again.

And it connected. The creature hadn't been expecting that. The spear made a solid strike to the head, slicing deep into its skull, and it screeched in pain, writhing around, trying to escape. Riley pressed her assault, shifting her grip on the spear - and against her will, it changed, blades sliding out and extending. It became heavier and deadlier. Riley nearly lost her grip on the weapon, but through some divine act of providence, she kept her hold on it, and she forcibly ripped it out and swung again - this time embedding it deep into the serpent's skull.

Rather anticlimactically, it sighed, twitched, and fell to the ground, dead.

It did, however, teach her a critical lesson about the monsters - their blood burned. As it slumped over, a searing hot, volcanic acid dripped onto her, coating her stomach and legs, hissing and bubbling against her coat. It melted through it, and Riley staggered backward as it began burning her skin - and not even her adrenaline could keep her from feeling this pain.

She heard another cry, and she jerked her head up, her blood running cold as she saw the second serpent racing to her, a black blur in the temple's hallway.

_I got one_, she thought. _I almost did it. There isn't enough time for me to grab the spear. I'm sorry, Daddy. I tried.  
_

Still, she tried to reach the spear, to jerk it out of the first serpent, but the second was in the air by the time she wrapped her hand around the hilt. . .

And the monster separated in half.

Riley stood still as she watched it tear apart in midair, one half of it falling one way, the second half falling the other. Something sharp, metallic, and bright made a buzzing noise as it zipped through the air and circled around like a boomerang might. Riley was paralyzed as she stood there, bits and pieces of blood splashing onto her, burning her a second time. Her hand was wrapped tightly around the hilt of the spear, her breaths sharp, ragged, and _loud _in the silence.

The metallic boomerang made it back to the hand that had thrown it.

"What the fuck." She whispered.

A huge, hulking _thing _approached, standing easily even feet tall. It was dark, imposing, and _alien_. Riley tightened her grip on the spear, her throat going dry. Was this monster going to try and kill her too? She hoped not. There wasn't much else she could do - she could smell the disgusting scent of burned skin, could still see small wisps of smoke in the scope of her broken flashlight. She had no hope of outrunning it. And it looked like it could crush her in one hand.

Like a deflated balloon, the rage that had fueled her just _left_, abandoning her as quickly as it had come. The new monster approached, coming to stand in front of her, and she stared up at it stupidly, her body feeling numb. She'd reached the end of her limit, she knew it. There was no way she could fight this thing. If it wanted to kill her. . . she would let it.

There came a pop, a hiss, and a crackle, and she heard her own voice, whisper-light and distorted. "_What the fuck_."

Her mouth moved, but no words came out. She looked up, wondering why it hadn't killed her yet, why it was just staring at her-

Lights illuminated the tunnel, blinding Riley, and she flinched back, jerking a wounded hand up to shield her eyes.

"Hostile sighted!"

"Engage!"

Guns chattered, hurting her ears, and Riley jumped in fright, scrambling behind the second monster, looking for an escape route - but a sharp pain bit into her leg, and she went down hard. Riley cried out in agony, nursing her wounded leg, but her voice died in her throat as a bullet hit the rocks right next to her head, nearly slamming into her brain.

She jerked as several more hot bites punctured her skin, and she laid there, shaking. _I've been shot. Holy shit, I've been shot_. Riley laid there, body refusing to move, the shock of what had happened finally hitting her.

She heard a furious, menacing growl - which just as quickly turned into a choked wine of pain as more bullets hit the rocks.

A shadow fell over her, and Riley cried out as the huge, hulking creature leaned over her, catching himself as he fell. She glanced to the side of her head, noticing that his hands looked so _big_, and they were covered in sharp _talons _\- not human. Whatever she was looking at, it sure as hell wasn't human.

Bright green blood flooded her vision, and she jumped, expecting the burning acid to sear through her skull and melt her brain. It was impulse that had her choking, trying to spit it out of her mouth, but the creature above her was bleeding badly, its wounds large and severe. Riley kept coughing on its blood, trying not to throw up as the sharp, chemical-tasting liquid slid down her throat. It was in her eyes, all over her face, hitting her stomach and legs, aggravating the burns there.

"Put it down!"

A gun cracked against the side of the creature's head, and somehow, the soldier who had done it rolled the creature off of her. It sprawled out on the floor next to her, not moving.

Riley laid there, too. She was in too much pain, her own suffering escalating beyond what she thought possible. A hot wetness began spreading under her leg at an alarming rate. Shadows moved in an out of her vision, people's voices blurring as reality began to fade. _I'm bleeding_, she thought_, everyone's bleeding today. I'm not special.  
_

Her head spun, and blackness gathered at the corners of her vision. Against her will, the world began to grow fuzzy and faint, and as consciousness ebbed away from her, she felt tears sting her eyes again at the thought of her father, Suraj, Old Mother, the digsite workers. . .

_I tried_, she thought, slipping away,

__I tried so hard, Daddy. . .__

* * *

Riley came awake slowly, but was satisfied to just lay in the middle of the Room.

_The end. Show's over. When I fall asleep, are you going to hit rewind and have me relive the beginning again? _She thought, groggily.

But no. For the first time in a very long time. . . things changed.

The alien took her by surprise. Riley saw the pictures in her head as he somehow _reached in_, and played them over like a highlight reel, only focusing on certain sections. Her subduing a soldier, Suraj and her diving into the cave, the moment she met her father, and then farther. When she was Suraj had landed in the altar room, the furry, her grabbing the spear, stabbing it into the serpent. . . He repeated that part, as if intrigued.

And with a decisive growl, he ripped her _out_.

In a millisecond she was no longer present inside of her body, and she gasped as she left her mind, and she recoiled as she was thrust into another.

It was different. Too different. She struggled, trying to find some sense of normalcy, of belonging, but he squished that, containing her to a small space. Finally, Riley stilled, breathing heavily (though, how one could do that in a mind, she'd never know) and finally, the alien moved again, showing her the reel.

Only through his eyes.

_He was alone, stalking through the temple, searching the walls for their bio-signatures. His eyes caught sight of something interesting on the ground, and he peered at it curiously. The Oomans had left their strange, glowing, primitive sticks of light on the ground - his head jerked up as he heard a distinctly female cry. Knowing that his prey had been sighted, he moved, all athletic grace and muscle, running to the sound of the Ooman scream.  
_

_They weren't that far away. He'd been tracking them for some time, trailing them. He raced to the noise, holding his glaive** in his hand, and when he hit the hallway bearing the signature of the Kiande Amedha** he let it fly. His glaive tore it apart, and a small, startled squeak sounded in the hallway.  
_

_He changed his scanner, shifting to normal vision, and there, standing at the corpse of the second Kiande Amedha, was the Ooman. She had her hand wrapped around the weapon of the Ancient this temple had been dedicated to. A rash of indignation wove through him as he took in the sight - how dare an Ooman think she had the right to lay hands on an Yautja weapon?  
_

_But the corpse of his prey, however. . . A quick glance at her body revealed telltale signs of a struggle.  
_

_She'd made this kill.  
_

Riley felt disoriented as she saw another flash, and she watched as the soldiers stormed the hallway, felt his pain as bullets tore open his skin. His blood, a beautiful, bright neon green, dripped down. He lost his balance and fell, just barely managing to catch himself to avoid crushing her. She cowered under him, alien and foreign, and Riley felt his vague fascination as his blood sloshed onto her, hitting her face, her body - but something crashed into his temple, and his visual relays went dark as consciousness left him.

_I know all of this, _Riley thought. _I lived it.  
_

_Not all,_ he replied, _not all, Ooman.  
_

And then, just like a movie, the scene played again.

_He was alive, but wounded. They had given him something, injected him with some sort of drug that flooded into his body and weighed him down, making him useless. Still, he'd managed to break the neck of one foolish Ooman and break the arm of another before they'd drugged him a second time.  
_

_It took three Oomans to heave him out of the temple, but only one carried the Ooman girl who laid limp, her skin a freakish pasty white as her too-red blood dripped everywhere. She'd looked as though she'd wanted to take the ki'cti-pa of the Ancient and stab him with it, too, but she hadn't.  
_

_She'd reeked of fear. . . and fury.  
_

_The soldiers shouted things as they dragged him out, and he managed a growl as they forced him to his knees. They didn't know he could understand them, so he listened, taking advantage of their arrogance.  
_

_"Subject captured." One said, saluting his Ooman master, "Orders, sir?"  
_

_"Cleanup. Exterminate those who are alive." The Ooman master said, his hands tucked neatly behind his back.  
_

_He watched as one of the Ooman men battled his way out of the ranks, fighting past the soldiers, shouting a name, trying to rush forward. One of the soldiers hit him, and his nose began to bleed, more of that disgusting red blood leaking from his face.  
_

_"Riley! RILEY!"  
_

_"Sir?" One of the Ooman slaves asked, looking to his master for guidance.  
_

_He knew this Ooman one well. A leader, a doctor, a scientist. He'd watched his primitive Ooman plane fly in, how he'd initiated the "quarantine." An easy way to shepherd the Ooman masses who were more than pleased to go to their deaths like stupid Ooman sheep. A few remained alive - the near-dead Ooman girl, for one. As he looked at the man who was trying to rebel, he noticed several striking similarities between them.  
_

_Spawn, he guessed. The Oooman man's spawn.  
_

_"Take the Yautja and the girl into custody. Deliver them to Weyland-Yutani services. I'll take care of this." The Ooman master said.  
_

_Soldiers flooded around him, hoisting him up onto an ancient litter, and he tried to fight, but the drugs were too strong. The half-dead Ooman girl was given the same treatment, a litter of her own, but he didn't pay much attention to her. Instead, he watched as the Ooman master approached the distraught spawn-creator, a calmly pulled out a gun.  
_

_"Thank you for serving Weyland-Yutani Corp, Dr. Landon. Rest assured, your daughter will be well provided for."  
_

_And he fired.  
_

_The spawn-creator's body went limp, hitting the ground, a uniform hole cut into his head.  
_

_"Such a waste of talent," The master said, "We could have used you, Dr. Landon. . . It's a good thing you have a child to carry on your legacy. We saved you from the Xenomorphs. . . and you died up here. A true waste."  
_

And then he deposited her back into her body.

Riley's eyes were wide, and her fingers gripped at the floor as she breathed. She tried to concentrate on just that: breathing. She felt as though she'd been punched. She thought. . . She thought her father had died at the teeth and tails of the serpents.

But no.

He'd been shot, like he was nothing more than a stray dog.

And the voice. . . the man who'd shot him. . .

"_How are you feeling today?"  
_

The Man Behind the Glass. . .

Her father hadn't died at the hands of some animal.

He'd been shot and killed. He had been _murdered_.

Black, dark rage, so hot and thick it felt like poison in her veins, trudged through her.

_I'm going to fucking kill him. I'll murder him. I'm going to tear his throat _out!

In the back of her mind, she felt him laugh, just as dark as her thoughts.

_And this was the Ooman worthy of wielding the ki'cti-pa.  
_

Riley seethed, fingers curling into tight fists.

She'd tear his throat out.

With her _bare hands_.

* * *

m-di yin'tekai! == No honor. _  
_

kiande amedha == Hard Meat / Xenomorph

chakt-ra == glaive / Hunter's disc.

ki'cti-pa == Combistick/spear.


	5. Jailbreak

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **None really. Death, blood, the usual.

**Author's Notes:** Are you guys excited? I'm excited. Hello to all of the new followers and readers! I hope you enjoy Riley and our friend Yautja. More importantly, I hope you'll forgive me for my absence. Hopefully the length of this chapter (and its contents) will more than make up for it! I'm excited to start getting into some of the good stuff, aren't you guys?

Also, I'd like to say that HBO/Starz has been running Aliens for like, the past month solid. Every day I wake up and get to quote those awesome lines, and I realized Ripley. . . Riley. . . I hope you guys know the name thing was totally unintentional. I realized that when I was watching the movie one day, and I was like. . . Whoop. I totally didn't even realize how close their names were. ;=;

Rest assured, Riley is not a Ripley clone, and not related to that wonderful woman in any way, shape, or form. Riley Landon is just Riley Landon. And Ripley (Ellen? I think her first name is Ellen. . . I originally said Elliot. Look at me, I am a terrible fan, I am so sorry. ) has the lovely Amanda to take up her mantle in Isolation. . . which I need to get. But in any case.

Onto the chapter! I hope you like it!

* * *

"I intend to live forever, or die trying."  
-Groucho Marx

* * *

Breathe in.

Blink.

Breathe out.

Every exhalation was a challenge. Focusing was just beyond her at the moment. She was just. . . _there_. Laying down. Existing. . .

_Breathing_.

Nothing else was there except for her body and oxygen. Her eyes were open, but everything looked as though it were wrapped in a mist of diamonds, and colors were bursting into bloom everywhere, making her stare in an awed, dumb stupor.

Was it okay if she just laid there for a while? Despite the odd, nagging feeling that there was something buried, way deep down, just waiting for her to think about it-

(_"Thank you for serving Weyland-Yutani Corp, Dr. Landon_.")

-but it kept skittering out of her grasp, away from her attention. She just couldn't focus on it - it was too damn hard.

In the back of her mind, she heard something, whispering, murmuring, begging her to pay attention to it. She was sure that there was something connected to the voice, on the other side of the fog, but she just couldn't reach it. Regardless, it kept pestering her, buzzing around her thoughts like a fly, and she kept turning away from it, bored as soon as it fluttered into her view. The diamonds and the colors were so much more intriguing, anyway.

The clouds swirled and shifted, taking a sickening lurch.

Her back hit something cold and solid, and pain bit into her wrists.

Her neck.

Her ankles.

She struggled simply out of reflex, but the motions sent her body spinning in one direction, and the world went in another.

The diamond mist parted, and she looked up as something warm laid against her chilly skin, chasing away the cold.

"_She's __not out?_" A voice murmured in the void.

"_She is." _

She stared up at the blurry mass of pale white and startling green, bu tit was hard to make out much else. The voice, the pest in the back of her head, began banging against her brain with a ferocious intent, demanding she finally acknowledge what the hell was happening. So she tried, looking up at the colors, and her entire body shuddered as warm heat lanced through her arm, quickly spreading throughout the rest of her. The colors started to blur and kaleidoscope, all the sensation and feeling draining out of her.

_S'yuitde_, the pest snarled at her.

She knew that word to mean something terrible and insulting, and it took a few minutes to actually remember what.

Though it took every scrap of her willpower, she felt indignation course through her like sludge.

_What did you just call me? _

It laughed, but the sound came out something more like a growl.

_Pathetic. You, Ooman, are _weak.

Anger poured into her.

Her? _Weak? _

She'd been surviving in this _hellhole _for an eternity. She'd _lived_. And _he _was calling _her _weak?! Had she the strength, she would have gotten to her feet, tracked him down, and introduced her fist to his face. She could just picture it in her mind - the thrill of adrenaline in her veins as her knuckles collided with the side of his face, his skin breaking under the force of it, her fist biting into his tusks. Neon green blood would splash out of his mouth, just to add some insult to injury.

That seemed to please him.

_Finally. Finally, you listen. _

Irritation replaced her anger, and her focus began to fade. Anything that even remotely made him happy had no interest to her.

This only enraged the pest, who swept aside her defenses with a snarl and reached _in_, grabbing something-

And then she was hundreds of miles away, covered in acid and blood, looking at her father's face, his expression dripping in desperation and fear.

"_You are such a waste of talent. . . we could have used you, Dr. Landon. It's a good thing you have a child to carry on your legacy_."

A single shot rang out in the air. She watched the bullet wound appear, saw her father hit the dirt. There was a neat, uniform hole cut into his head, his eyes were open and glassy. . .

_Daddy. . . _

She fought past the dizziness, the fading, the colors, the vertigo. She _had _to. The more she fought, the more trickles of memory returned to her. He kept her afloat, acting as an anchor in a turbulent storm as she recalled the secret conversations, the whispered planning. And for a moment, he allowed her to draw upon his reservoir of strength. Finally, after what felt like years of having her eyes shut, of intentionally closing them so she couldn't see the White Coats and what they'd do, Riley opened her eyes.

She saw the room, the white, sterilized walls (_at least it's not _my _Room), _which smelled of bleach and chemicals, and she looked around.

"_. . . she is awake. What's the dosage?" _A voice asked through the haze.

"_5 milligrams, sir." _

_". . . give her more_."

The last man speaking.

She knew that voice.

Her eyes flicked to the left, and she made contact with a pair of wicked green eyes. In many ways, they reminded her just of a cat's: predatory, instinct-driven. He stared back, intrigued, wondering how it was possible. . . and yet, somehow greatly amused at the same time. She knew this and more, could practically feel it emanating off him in waves.

"_. . . sir?_" Another voice asked.

_"I said more. Triple the dosage_." He replied, never breaking eye contact with her.

Somebody obeyed, and she felt another hot lance in her arm.

She smiled at him, twisting her lips up into something bitter and dark.

He frowned- and Riley lost herself shortly after that as everything began to cascade into a chaotic flatline of consciousness.

On the other side of the fog, _he _reacted, reaching in and latching onto her before she could be swept up in the current. She felt herself writhing, her muscles convulsing and tightening without her permission. Her lungs closed and opened, medical devices screaming as everything went haywire. Voices shouted, and people barked orders at one another. . .

And the man, the owner of that voice that had spoken so calmly and sweetly to her father - she heard him commanding others, leaning down and pressing against her, checking her neck.

_Now_, he whispered.

Her back arched, and her muscles clamped down, fingers curling around his clothes. She felt her knuckles ache as she clenched, and he backed away, trying to pull free of her grip. She wasn't sure who would win - him, or her muscles.

Eventually, however, he managed to wrench himself away, and she gave a low groan of pain as she felt something _snap_.

"_Get her to recovery._" He ordered.

"_She can only handle 5 milligrams, sir. For future tests, I suggest_-"

A silence settled, one which seemed to freeze time itself.

Riley laid there, feeling as though an invisible hand were squeezing her lungs, crushing them so tightly she could barely breathe. Every inhalation made a noisy, raspy drag, and every exhalation was a wheezing whine. Her eyes were just barely cracked open as she watched the Man Behind the Glass turn to the scientist who'd spoken, and with a practiced, mechanical movement, drew out a knife and stabbed him.

The red was beautiful as it blossomed into life on the White Coat's pristine jacket, and the man gurgled as he fell.

The voice in the back of her mind purred. He had an appreciation for such beauty, too.

Riley watched the man moaning on the floor, and she stared because in a strange, abstract way. . . it was gorgeous. White, red, life, death. . . The Man Behind the Glass who had so gracefully stabbed his knife into the jugular of another man turned, and without waiting, began to push her gurney. She kept her eyes open, though she felt like sleeping. Just thinking about it had the voice snarling at her, and noting his displeasure, she stayed awake.

The ride was short, but Riley was. . . oddly happy. Though she was fairly certain she'd just had a seizure (it hadn't been the first time, honestly), she was awake. And going somewhere other than the Room. When they wheeled her into the recovery area, Riley breathed in deeply, closed her eyes, and allowed her body to relax.

"_Condition?" _

_"Asleep, sir. Would you like sedatives?" _

_"No. She just had a seizure-" _(Riley had to suppress the urge to snicker mentally - _damn it feels good to be right_) "_-she won't be waking up anytime soon. Prep the next patient. Radio security that we'll be there in five minutes._"

And then it was quiet.

She was hooked into a machine whose only purpose was to make the _most _aggravating beeping noise she'd ever heard in her life. Though it felt like nails scratching against her skull, Riley used the sound to tether herself to reality. It helped guide her back into the present, where she cracked open her eyes. She waited, and flexed her free hand, feeling her fingertips press against cool, hard metal. An electric jolt spiked through her veins, feeding her strength, and the lights in the room flickered.

She heard the wonderfully blissful noise of a pneumatic system hissing, and the clamps holding her down fell away. For the first time in a very, very long time. . . Riley was free. She sat up, feeling atrophied muscles burning, and then she slid over the gurney and stood on her own two feet.

Riley smiled, feeling laughter bubbling up her throat. And when she started, it was an ugly, rough, grating noise.

She kept laughing, even as the electricity in the complex shut off, bathing everything in darkness.

* * *

The black didn't last long. Riley slid off of the gurney as red back-up lights snapped on, illuminating everything in a deep, rich red. It wasn't beautiful, though. The White Coat who had bled onto his clothes had been beautiful.

In comparison, this was ugly. . . still. She had someplace to be.

Riley made it to the door guarding the recovery room, trying to keep her breathing even as she could despite the shaking in her legs and arms. She felt weak and strong at the same time, excited and panicked. The door was locked, but backup power kept all doors functioning. They'd both discovered that when they'd listened in on a few conversations. As it turned out, idly guards had plenty of time to chitchat. Sure, security measures might have been severe when they'd first arrived, but after a time. . . they'd grown complacent.

As she drew flush with the door, Riley breathed in deeply and pressed herself against it, relishing the chill. She grinned as she rubbed her cheek against the metal, feeling like laughing all over again.

_Hurry, Ooman! _He urged, growling impatiently at her.

"Patience." She replied, her voice a raspy croak, "All good things come to those who wait."

For an eternity, the doors, the walls, the lights. . . they'd kept her prisoner. And now she was setting herself free. Craning her neck down, Riley looked at her hand, still clenched tightly into a fist. She gently pried her fingers back, revealing the contents inside.

A security card laid there, attached by a broken black string. Holding it in an emaciated hand, Riley swiped it over the electronic keypad, and another ecstatic smile lit up her face as it beeped, a green light flashing. Her hands shook as she pushed against the door, and she half expected it not to budge - but it swung outward. She laughed again, feeling light and giddy, her head spinning like she'd drunk too much alcohol.

Riley continued into the hallway, having memorized the route the hundreds of thousands of times she'd been down it. He had helped her, of course, keeping her mind afloat even when the sedatives had tried to drag her under. Her hands trailed along the wall, keeping her steady, but with every passing minute, she required it less and less. He was feeding her strength, keeping her on her feet, fighting back the effects of the drugs and the vertigo.

Her bare feet made echoes as she walked, and she couldn't help but notice that it was oddly silent. There weren't any alarms or klaxons blaring, just the eerie red lights. Riley had to fight to suppress tremors of excitement that were trying to snake through her. Every time she'd been down these hallways, she had been drugged or carted through it on a gurney. Never had she walked under her own free will.

In the back of her mind, he prowled, rattling against his own prison bars.

_Hurry, Ooman. Hurry! _

She continued, not bothering to change her pace. _I don't have the energy to run. If you want me to collapse before then. . . _

Booted footsteps sounded through the corridor, and Riley stopped. Soldiers began to pour into the hallway, and briefly, she looked down at her body. She was covered in a pale blue medical gown, the one that showed far too much of her body for her liking, but she could see that her muscles were all but gone, her skin stubbornly clinging to her bones. . .

She couldn't fight them.

Even if she wanted to.

She was too emaciated, hard-earned muscles withered to nothing.

He snarled at her_. You're giving up? _

_Starvation does a lot to a body, you know_. If her atrophied muscles weren't any help, then the seizure she'd just had. . .

A frustrated snarl was his answer.

_Do I have to do everything?! Have you no thar'n-dha? _

_Strength? _She repeated back to him, _no. I've been starved, beaten, abused. . . tortured. . . I have no strength. I'm _pissed.

The answer wasn't enough to satisfy him, but it seemed to placate him. Her nerve endings lit up, crackling under her skin, and she watched as the soldiers filled up the hallway. Some knelt, others stood over their comrades, but everyone aimed a gun in her direction. She quirked her head to the side as somebody shouted at her, demanding something, his voice an authoritative bark, but Riley couldn't hear him.

She stood, waiting, listening instead to the sharp buzz in her ears growing, her blood humming-

There came another flicker of electricity, and she felt heat rise off of her skin, but it was quickly whisked away as the area erupted into a violent tempest of wind. Soldiers went flying, several of them screaming as they smashed into each other, the walls, and the ceiling. A dark substance began to pain the pristine gray walls, and as the tempest died down, it deposited the soldiers everywhere.

They fell with sickening, wet _thuds_, and then they landed, they didn't move.

Idly, she was reminded of a movie. Something she'd watched once and deemed the story stupid. Something about a girl in a prom dress being covered in blood? Didn't she have that same power? What was her name. . . She couldn't remember. And Riley didn't really care.

She started forward again, silence descending a second time. Tenderly, she stepped over those bodies of the soldiers who were now sprawled out onto the floor, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Her foot landed in something warm, and she paused long enough to look down, watching as a dark liquid began to spread from the body of one man, adding to the mural that surrounded her.

In another time, Riley supposed she might have flinched back at the sight of his crushed helmet.

As it were, she simply stopped and stared.

_It's his blood. . . I never knew it was so warm. _

Her mind trembled, and Riley watched as a phantom copy of herself, in a world that she had no idea existed, began to paint her arms with slashes of blue, warm blood, fingers swirling in intricate patterns over her skin. She was careful not to scratch herself with her talons, to apply each design with care. And an urge began to develop inside of her, something she couldn't quite place. She wanted to use that blood to draw on her face and arms, just like _he _had, or like how Suraj and Old Mother had taught her.

Warriors did it right before they went into battle, didn't they? She wanted the next batch of soldiers to look at her and feel _terror_.

_Do it_, he said, _what's stopping you, Ooman? _

She looked down, glancing between the soldiers and blood. What _was _stopping her?

_Nothing. _

In her mind, the memories played again. Riley was quick to crouch down, smearing the warm blood on her fingers. She traced patterns quickly, hands mimicking his movements, and even in the red light, she could see the dark lines standing out starkly against the pale whiteness of her skin. Using her thumbs, she traced a few lines over her face, and satisfied, started walking again.

She hummed an idle tune as she continued.

The rational, sane part of her mind recoiled, but she was quick to shush it up. It was true that earlier in her life she would have screamed, collapsed, and broken down into a sobbing mess upon seeing the dead soldiers. And that odd power. . . but now? Now, she wasn't sure what would give her more satisfaction: watching it a second time or actually participating with a knife of her own. The Room had stripped most of her humanity from her, had scrubbed her absolutely clean.

She only wished she'd had her old body. She would have loved to show them just _what _she was capable of doing with her hands and feet.

As she made her way, she met with no more resistance. But then again, their rooms were fairly close to each other - necessity, one of the White Coats said, to get good readings. It only put a spring in her step as she drew closer to his door, humming a nonsensical, alien tune, and finally she drew flush with a door. _His _door.

Sliding the keycard through the security lock, she gained entrance. It slid open, permitting her into a smaller room, one probably used for decontamination or something like it. As the first door shut behind her, she stepped over to the second and swiped the keycard again, but a loud buzzer sounded, and a red light blinked.

"Locked out." She guessed.

Maybe she would have cried that their bid to escape had failed so quickly. Well. . . that wasn't quite right. They'd killed some soldiers together, and that had to count for something, right? She paused when she heard a purring snarl coming from behind the second door, and the lights flickered again.

Riley felt the same rush in her blood, the same heat, and she jumped, startled, when she heard things inside the door breaking with loud _snaps_. Instinctively, Riley reached forward and tugged at it, and the door slid back soundlessly. The edges of it were warped, large metallic sections completely crushed.

Riley crossed through the now-broken door and stepped into his domain.

Memories washed over her. She remembered every one of their encounters, bright as day. The first time they'd dragged her there, she had been a cowering ball of fear, crying and sobbing. She was new to the White Coats, to the Man Behind the Glass. They hadn't even shaved her head yet. It had been a very unpleasant meeting, as he had lashed out, hitting her so hard she'd been sent sprawling the entire length of the room. She'd cracked her skull against the wall, and felt the sickening sensation of her bones fracturing. Pain and blood had been quick to follow, and he'd roared, the sound so loud it almost deafened her, and she was sure she was going to die.

He had rushed forward, intent on ending it, but people with guns had flooded into the cell.

Their second play date had occurred with him being locked in a multitude of restraints, and she'd gained the addition of an electric collar. Every time they didn't "_talk_" she was shocked. She had been desperate, screaming and trying to understand what the White Coats wanted from her.

_Talk? Yeah, I can _\- zap.

_No I don't _\- zap.

_NO - zap. _

_Please stop - _zap.

They'd met a handful of times after, but they were all the same thing. Hell, maybe they'd met even more, but she'd been too drugged, too out of it to notice or care. But now. . .

Now, he was there, prone and vulnerable. The White Coats had forced him into a kneeling position on the ground, and a litany of tubes and cables and wires were sticking out of every available inch of his skin. She kept staring, taking in the sight. It seemed impossible that humans could be responsible for this. He was so, so strong, and yet. . . there he was. Chained down like a junkyard dog.

Riley's eyes flicked over his body, but she stopped when she made eye contact. His eyes glittered in the dark, looking almost like molten gold, they were that bright. She could practically see the rage and the hate that boiled there, illuminating them. He stared back at her, meeting her gaze unflinchingly, but she noted that his eyes were slightly clouded and his eyelids drooped.

She drew closer, each footstep slow and measured as she slowly came to stand in front of him. He was just as big as she remembered - easily over six, six and a half feet tall. Maybe closer to seven. where all of her muscles had atrophied, his looked roughly the same, albeit his body bore an incredible amount of scars, and there were strange machines and IV starts hooked into his skin.

He craned his neck back, slick dreadlocks sliding over his shoulders. Strangely enough, golden rings and hoops glistened on them, giving it an oddly beautiful flair.

"We meet." She rasped.

A clicking sound was her reply, coming from the strange, alien thing he called a mouth.

_Release me. _

"Why should I?" She said, unafraid.

Anger rolled off him in waves, and she felt the room tremble around them. Her nerves crackled again, but she didn't move.

_Release me! _

She looked down at him, and he glared back.

An alarm shrieked, shrill and deafening, startling Riley. In her hand, she still held the keycard, and she glanced down at it, flipping it over. The Man Behind the Glass stared back at her stoically. Making up her mind, Riley tucked the card down the front of her medical gown. It was about the safest place she could put it. She rolled her eyes back to him, and gave him a halfhearted shrug.

"I could. . . on the condition that you don't kill me."

A snarl.

Yeah, she wasn't born yesterday.

"Swear it."

"Sei-i." He reluctantly responded.

It was odd, actually, seeing his mouth move, the mandibles clicking against his teeth, but it was enough for her. Reaching down, she began ripping out the needles and wires and tubes. Anything that was connected, she tore out, ignoring the splashes of neon green that splattered her. They'd heal soon enough, she was certain. The only thing remaining was the cuffs that held him on his hands and knees. Riley worked at them, but they were strong and unyielding, which made sense - they were meant to contain him. Based on the raw skin around his wrists, he'd been trying for quite some time.

_Use what I have_, he said, the golden eyes watching her every move.

He was talking about the hallway and the door.

She felt the nerves under her skin crawling, thrilled at the prospect of using that power again. She reached out, imagining the energy flowing out, running through her fingertips, breaking the bindings, but when she touched his restraints, nothing happened. Riley blinked as she looked at the cuffs, and she tried again, but the energy just stayed there, pushing against her skin, begging to be released.

From the hallway, she heard voices, and more footsteps.

_Hurry, you useless Ooman! Or all of my efforts will have been for nothing! _

"_Your _efforts?" She snapped.

The anger was the bursting point. She felt the cuffs break under her touch as her anger lashed through her. His arms dropped down to his sides, and he reached down, snapping the ones holding his legs and feet with ease. She didn't have time to wonder what had just happened, or how he'd done it.

More soldiers burst into the room, and Riley whirled around, feeling her calm dissipate. She staggered back a step, terrified that their plan, concocted through secret mental conversations and careful planning, had failed. There were even more soldiers now, almost double, and she was so weak. . .

She felt him rise, saw his shadow fall over her. In that moment, Riley felt very, very small.

Like an avenging angel, he stood, dark and imposing in the red room. He didn't wait for the soldiers to fire - he just charged forward, a blur of color, a mass of muscle and imposing strength. Within seconds he was tearing through them, shredding the humans to pieces with just his bare hands. He didn't need weapons or anything else.

She waited, watching, a tendril of fear creeping through her. In just moments, he was finished, and he stood there, hardly even out of breath despite what he'd done. He approached her, and it took everything Riley had to stop herself from walking backward and hitting the wall. He towered over her, staring down, his eyes gleaming with intelligence. If he wanted, he could kill her with just a flick of his hand.

Instead, he let out a chuffing noise, and turned, walking away.

_Follow_, he commanded. He didn't stop to see if she did, so Riley hastened to obey, scrambling to keep up with his pace.

She struggled to walk the same speed as him - and walking wasn't quite the word, either. She practically had to jog as he left the room and strode down the hallway. She followed behind him blindly, her breaths rasping in her ears, her muscles burning.

He seemed to know where he was going - but she had no idea. From this point on, she just had to. . . to trust him.

He guided them through the hallways, silent, and Riley followed. Finally, after what felt like hours, she looked up at him.

"Where are we going? We can't - we need to get out."

He didn't respond.

"Hey!" Riley shouted, grabbing at his arm-

She gasped when he whirled around, anger and fury spearing through her mind as he pinned her to the wall, snarling. It was such a deep and powerful noise, it made her own body rattle as she hung there, limp and weak as a rag doll.

_Do not touch me, filthy ape! _

"Open fire!"

Gunshots chattered in the hall, and Riley flinched. He _roared_, dropping her and turning to the new threat.

Riley coughed as she regained the ability to breathe, and she watched as he charged down the hallway where more soldiers were gathered. Using the wall to get back to her feet, she tried to stagger after him, but a hand - a human hand - latched onto her arm with bruising force. It was muscle memory more than anything that made her spin around and jam the heel of her palm into his windpipe. The soldier hadn't been expecting it, but he dodged, leaning back, and Riley caught sight of two more soldiers quickly coming to his aid.

She swore, and with all the strength she had, threw her body against his, forcefully jamming her hand into his throat again, and this time she felt his windpipe collapse under her strike. They fell together, and snatching up his gun, Riley rolled off of him and fired at the second soldier. Small darts stood out of his vest - and Riley realized in horror that the bullets weren't _bullets. _They were probably tranquilizing darts or something like it. As he flinched back, Riley took a few more shots at the gap that exposed his neck.

A few of them struck home, and he coked, collapsing in just a heartbeat.

_Jesus Christ, it's so fast! Shit, this isn't good. _

The third soldiers already had his gun up to his shoulder, and Riley swallowed as she pulled the trigger, trying to beat him to the punch, but the gun clicked, indicating it was empty. Fear crawled through her veins, and she breathed rapidly as she scrambled to her hands and knees, searching for something - _anything_. The third soldier was walking forward, had her trained in his sights, and Riley was on the verge of hyperventilating as she kept looking for her salvation-

And she spotted it.

She dashed forward, somehow (miraculously) avoiding the few tranq darts that the man fired at her, and she tucked and rolled, grabbing the hilt of the knife the second soldier had strapped to his chest. She crouched and threw it - but the knife bounced harmlessly off his helmet. Her attack had the desired effect though, as his shots went wide when his head turned away from the knife on instinct, avoiding the blow.

Praying to every holy deity known to man, she forced herself to get to her feet and pressed her attack. She was slow, and weak, and the man recovered faster.

With trained practice, he hit her, debilitating strikes that had her slammed up against a wall and dropping to her hands and knees in an instant. She gasped as her muscles cramped and pain wove its way through her. He reached down, one hand latching onto her shoulder to shove her to the floor, and Riley tried to fend it off, her own hand clamping on his. . .

. . . and she met bare skin.

She gasped as thousands of electric jolts struck her. Images, sensations, and memories poured through her skull, and Riley stiffened as she tried to fight against the onslaught, just barely hearing the man groaning in pain. It was almost impossible to tell where he ended and she began.

It took a few seconds, but she was finally able to wrestle aside the man's mind, still desperately locked in _escape _mode, and whether it was reflex or in response, the man's brain wound through several hallways, through doors - and into a parking garage.

The basement.

The alien had led her to the basement.

They were - at most - only forty feet from a parking garage.

With vans. That _worked_.

Wrenching herself free from his grip, Riley didn't bother incapacitating him. She'd had time to get used to the intrusion of someone's mind in her own. . . he hadn't.

He collapsed, curling in on himself, hands clutching at himself, his breaths short hiccups. Riley stared at him, but then shook her head and got back to her feet. Glancing at her escape-companion, she noted he was finished with the soldiers, and she was quick to scramble over to him. His breathing was labored, and he was leaning against the wall, white darts sticking out of his skin. She rushed over and ignored his half-hearted growl as she touched him, ripping out the darts. She tugged on his arm, guiding him forward.

"I know where we have to go! But we have to move - come on, suck it up and _move!_"

He did, albeit he leaned on her, and Riley was weak.

Still, adrenaline gave her the ability to muster up what strength she had left, and she acted as his crutch as she guided him as quickly as she could down the hallways. They half-shambled, half-ran, before Riley shouldered open a metal door, and was greeted by the damp, oily smell that only parking garages could have. The lights flashed, and the annoying siren kept shrieking at them, but she ignored it as she headed to the first van that she saw.

Leaving him to lean against it, she ran to the guard's room, knowing from the soldier's memories that they keys were kept locked inside of it. . .

She shouldered open another door and shoved her way inside, and true to the man's memories, the keys were in a locked glass box. Riley, not finding anything useful to break it open with, bashed on it with her elbow, biting her lip as agony speared through her arm. Her nerves felt like crushed glass (_heh, no pun intended_) shoved under her skin, but there was nothing she could do except press forward. She did, aiming another blow. Another. One more. And finally, to her relief, it cracked open, although the glass flayed her skin badly. She bled as she ran from the room, and almost let out a humorless laugh when she saw the alien had ripped open the back doors and had collapsed on the inside of the van.

Worked for her, less lifting.

Riley's hands trembled as she heard _more _footsteps and voices, and she dropped the keys in her mad scramble to unlock the door. Closing her eyes and forcing herself to concentrate, she finally fitted the key into the lock and turned it, hearing the glorious _thunk _of the car lock disengaging.

She clambered into the driver's seat, and shoved the keys into the ignition with just moments to spare. More soldiers flooded the parking garage, but she cranked the engine and shoved the van into drive, stomping down on the gas pedal. The vehicle screamed in defiance, and Riley bounced up and down in the seat, murmuring to herself, begging for it to go, to _hurry the fuck up_, and finally, _finally_, it moved.

A snail's pace, but then it lurched forward and quickly gained speed.

She almost lost control as it fishtailed, the smell of smoke and burning rubber permeating the air, but Riley dug deep and forced herself to remain calm as she started to drive. She was going fifty as she left the parking garage, the undercarriage scraping against the slope out. She just barely managed to avoid hitting somebody head-on, the darkness greeting her as she bounced onto the pavement, the odometer ticking up and up, the RPM crawling into the red as she refused to let up on the gas.

It barely occurred to her to flick on the headlights as she sped away into the dark, the cool, damp night air kissing her skin.

Riley's knuckles turned pasty white as she held onto the steering wheel, her heart pounding, her throat dry, every muscle tensed and ready for action.

But one thought, tiny and defiant, wound its way to the front of her mind.

_I'm free. . . _

_Oh my god, I'm finally free. . . _

A voice - his voice - grumbled in the back of her mind, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

In the back, the alien slept, his voice fading into nothing as he fell into a drugged, exhausted sleep.


	6. Hide n' Seek

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Gore. Blood. Death. Cursing.

Will be pretty tame compared to what's to come, but just thought I'd be nice and warn ya.

**Author's Notes:** I can't stay away from this story right now, which is a good thing. . . You know, considering we haven't even left Earth yet. Oh dear oh my - but I guess this chapter kinda helps end that predicament. ;D

In any case, enjoy this chapter. Thanks to all who reviewed, I love reading and responding to them! c: But yes, thank you so much for he encouragement, and I hope you enjoy where this is going!

* * *

"Courage, above all things, is the first quality of the warrior."  
-Carl von Clausewitz

* * *

She felt like they'd given her crack again.

Not that she'd actually _done _crack, but. . . well there were a few drugs the White Coats had given her that she assumed were crack. Maybe. She really had nothing to go by.

Her hands were jittering almost uncontrollably on the wheel as she quivered in the driver's seat, her foot glued to the floor of the car. She didn't trust herself to stop and shake off the adrenaline high, because who the hell knew when more soldiers would randomly pop out of the woodwork and say, "Hi!"

The engine was screaming at her, the needle on the RPM reading far into the red. She was going to break the van if she kept going at this rate, but she didn't care. Distance was what she needed, and she'd seen enough action movies to know that helicopters and humvees weren't far behind. . . right? Her mouth was dry as the desert, her eyes wide, and every twitch of her hands had the van fishtailing on the road.

The headlights were dim, and did little to penetrate the gloom of the night, but Riley wasn't going to start fiddling with the dash to try and figure out how to flip on the high beams. Wherever she and the alien were, it was wooded, and the asphalt was crowded on either side by trees and shrubs.

It was cool, and she could see no telltale signs of a rainforest, so that led her to believe she was north. . . somewhee.

_Oh my god, I don't even know where I am. _

She sucked in a breath of air as her lungs tried to close up, and she shook her head, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating. Still, the thought kept buzzing through her mind. She didn't know where the fuck she was. She was driving at damn near 110 miles per hour, in the middle of a night, in a _forest she didn't know_. Which led her brain to automatically generate a slew of questions she'd been keeping locked up during her stay in the Room.

How much time had passed? Did her family think she was dead? Had Weyland-Yutani really been behind everything that'd happened? She was an American citizen - surely the government must have heard about it and why hadn't they intervened? Well. . . actually, the last one she could answer - kind of. Nobody would believe her if she went to the media with stories of a giant, muscled humanoid-looking alien and black serpents that bled acid. . .

Rain pattered on the windshield, slow at first, but quickly gathering strength and force. Before long, a downpour began, and Riley swore as she was forced to fiddle with the dash, struggling to turn on the wipers. Like most kids, she'd gotten her learner's permit when she was 15, but after an eternity in the Room, simple tasks like figuring out where the fuck the high beams or the windshield wipers were was a tremendous task.

The glow on the dashboard illuminated her skin, and she became acutely aware of her right arm, stained and turned red with blood. A lot of it was her own, but some of it was _theirs_. She could still see the swirling patterns she had painted on her skin, not at all human in nature or design. . . As if reminded she had been injured, Riley felt her elbow began to ache, and a hot dribble of blood trickled down her skin. In the sickly glow of the dashboard, it looked. . . odd. Alien. Dark, way too dark to be human - but an opposite of the neon color that the alien in the back bled.

She shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate on the road. But just thinking about the blood made the strange, acidic taste rise to life on her tongue. Even after all this time, she still remembered the taste when she'd swallowed it. Shaking her head more forcefully, Riley turned her attention to the dashboard, and through fiddling, finally managed to find the high beam switch. She flicked it on, giddy that she could actually see the road, but when she looked up, she swallowed and then promptly cried out.

She'd wandered from her side of the road and had made a nice deviation to the side, where a ditch spelled certain doom for their escape attempt.

Riley jerked the steering wheel to the left.

"Shitshitshit _fuck fuck FUCK!_" She nearly screamed the words as the van decided right then and there would be an excellent time to hydroplane.

Her kneejerk reaction caused the entire van to start skidding, and Riley prayed to everything holy and unholy for it to _stop_, because she did _not _want to die this way, not when she was so close to finally being free. Somehow, she managed to slowly guide the van back onto the road, and she breathed in a shaky breath as her hands shook so badly she thought the wheel was vibrating.

"W-Well," She stuttered, "W-We're still alive. And going 120. I s-should go be a Hollywood stuntman." She said, peeking over her shoulder. The alien was still firmly asleep in the back of the van, completely oblivious to everything she was doing. She was glad to see the broken back doors still flapping open and shut uselessly, and her unconscious companion had not fallen out of the back.

She turned back to the road, having learned her lesson, and tried to calm the frantic racing of her heart.

Paranoia decided to take hold.

They'd just escaped out of some secret government facility, it whispered to her, and they'd had enough funding to run expensive medical tests, have tons of doctors, _and _a very thoroughly stocked security force. Then why is it, it continued, that nobody's chasing after you?

Which was true. She was still expecting helicopters and sirens and spotlights and black ops units to suddenly pop out of the woodwork and shine bright flashlights on her and try to recapture her. She wasn't expecting. . . well, _nothing_. There was just the darkness and the storm. That was it.

_I need to stay alert. Why would they make it that easy? They wouldn't. There's just no way. _

They couldn't. It would not make sense to let the two of them cause all kinds of living hell and escape with their lives. Riley bounced up and down in the seat as she watched the road, biting her bottom lip hard enough for it to sting, trying to figure it out. There wasn't anything in front of her, no landmarks, just endless forest. On top of that, she didn't even know where the hell the two of them would go. Nowhere would be safe, and Riley had absolutely no idea how to live life on the streets. She had no credit card, and all of her bank accounts were probably being watched, no _home_. . .

God, what was she going to _do? _

Flicking her eyes up to the rearview, Riley was about to glance back down before she saw something strange.

Her tires were spitting up wet filth that was illuminated by her brake lights, but beyond that, she could see another mist cloud.

That didn't make sense. Why would another mist cloud be behind her?

A second later, she uttered a shocked squeak as her window exploded, showering her with glass. Rain and wind whipped into the cabin, and she damn near jerked the steering wheel over to the other side of the road as she fought against her shock. She tensed and looked left, desperately trying to understand what the fuck ha just happened, and she felt her jaw drop when she saw a car, pitch black as night itself, parallel to her. A soldier was half-kneeling, half standing out of his window, a dark gun aimed at her.

This one didn't shoot darts.

He didn't say anything, and he didn't have to. Riley understood his intentions well enough: pull over, or he'd get a lot more violent with that gun of his.

Her mind whirred, and for a second, time slowed as she considered her options.

She could keep driving, but she had no doubt that the soldier would shoot out her tired or more glass or even shoot _her_. She could pull over, but that would mean her entire freedom campaign would end up in vain. . . she didn't know what else to do. She bit the inside of her cheek as she heard the distinctive noise of a gun cocking, meaning her time was almost up.

Without thinking, Riley grabbed the wheel tightly in her hands and cranked it.

She crashed right into the side of the black car, and she grit her teeth as the entire van rattled, metal grinding and screeching against itself as they collided. She heard the soldier swear, and he ducked back inside right before she crashed into it. Both vehicles skidded for control on the road, and she felt their cars hydroplaning as their tires spun for purchase. The van shuddered with enough force that her teeth vibrated, but she kept control of the wheel, fighting against it, trying to turn it more into the car beside her.

She didn't want to go back.

If she went back, she'd give up and die, she knew that.

The military car braked, and Riley screamed as she lost control. The van started spinning in circles, unresponsive to her attempts to correct it, and she watched helplessly as the side of the road grew closer, and she knew it was all over. There wasn't any way for her to recover from this.

There was a ditch, and when Riley hit it, she bounced up, only there was no more dirt for her to hit. The ground fell away sharply, giving way to a cliffside filled with trees and stumps and _empty air. _

Maybe she laughed, maybe she screamed - Riley didn't know.

But she floated out of her seat, seatbelt dangling uselessly in the air. Electricity crackled against her skin, but then the can smacked into a tree and slammed her against the driver's door.

Then there was nothing but black and the sound of trees violently snapping and breaking as she rolled down the embankment.

* * *

_"Daddy, what's it like. . . to be here?" _

_"What do you mean, Riley?" _

_Riley frowned down at the photographs, and then craned her neck back to look at her father. "Those places you go, Daddy. I mean, I see these," She said, gesturing down to the glossy magazine spreads, "But you always tell me other things. _

_She ran her hands over the pictures, which depicted an archeological dig sit in Belize. Her father had been gone for some time in the country, which, if what he was saying was true, was filled to the brim with locations that had yet to be touched. For hundreds of years, they'd sat in the dirt, and her dad was eager to begin unearthing them. Funding was always a problem, however, and digs took quite a long time to do correctly - a huge problem when money was involved. _

_But the pictures always proclaimed Belize beautiful. And for the past two days, while her father had been acclimating to being back in the States, he said that it was quite the opposite. 'An ugly place' he'd said on the phone, and to others, 'it's reality.' _

_"Oh, baby girl. I didn't mean. . . It wasn't. . . I'm taking myself too seriously. Here, let me show you." He gestured for her, and Riley got up, obediently sitting on his knee while he wrapped an arm around her waist. _

_He clicked on a few folders, conjuring up images from his trip. Riley stared in confusion at the screen. These were not the pretty pictures she'd seen in the magazine and guide books. These were dirty city streets, poor dogs that looked like they'd seen better days, and people living in houses three times smaller than her own. _

_"Riley, tell me what you see." _

_"Nothing good, Daddy. It looks. . . horrible." She replied. _

_Her father smiled as he tapped her on the cheek, and Riley looked up at him, feeling confused. _

_"Not quite. Look again for me. . . a little harder this time." _

_So she did, and at first, the puzzle that her father gave her was a difficult one. But then, in each photo, she noticed. . . a smile. A smile, of all things. Every single person, despite the terrible conditions that they lived in, looked happy. Like they hadn't a care in the world. _

_"They don't look sad." She said, pointing to the picture. _

_He laughed. "See? I knew you'd find it. Look. They're happy because they know what's important. Yeah, they might not have a whole lot, but that doesn't stop them. When something bad happens, they pull themselves up by their bootstraps and say 'hey. If I got through that, I can get through anything. I'll rebuild. I'll make it better.' Time and time again, baby girl, people have been like this. That's surviving. That's _living."

The world melted away, and Riley felt her spine itching. Slowly, the world rearranged itself, and she was thrust into a body that didn't belong to her.

_A ridge. _

_People were scattered on a hilly landscape that was warm to the touch, but she knew it was cold below - cold and dark. She felt superior, looking down at all these lowly human creatures that scurried around, carrying their primitive guns. _

_A hand clapped her shoulder and squeezed. She looked - another warrior was behind her, giving her a hearty shake. _

_He spoke, and it took a moment for her to forget English, to learn something else in seconds, but she looked away again, back to the humans. She understood what he'd said. _

_"This is life, Young Blood. . . this is _life_. Make us proud." _

Riley gasped, her eyes snapping open, and for a moment she sat there, body pressed up against a hard, metallic surface that was wet. It took her a long moment to remember where she was and how she'd gotten there, but she did. She pushed herself up - and hissed. Pain raced through her right arm, and just like that, all of her memories tumbled back into her mind, cascading into her.

Water dripped onto her head, an she blinked, finding she was already wet. The broken window from the passenger's side was allowing water to soak her through. Huffing an irritated sigh, Riley shoved the matted brown mess of her hair back, out of her face, and took stock of her surroundings.

The van's headlights were still on, shining out into the forest, albeit one of them was broken. Steam curled up from the engine, which had completely crumpled. Outside, the rain was still pouring, hissing as it struck the hot metal. A sizeable amount of water had collected under the van, if the muddy dirt streaking against the driver's side was any indication. The van had tipped on its side, her door pressed into the dirt - leaving the only exits the backdoors or the passenger side.

Several trees had been snapped, and even more were utterly destroyed outside of the broken windshield, glass shards everywhere. Gathering her bruised and battered self together, Riley slowly eased herself up to her feet, doing her best to avoid the worst of the glass. She had to hunch over to avoid hitting the seat above her, and she eased into the back.

She had no idea how they were alive, but he was likely the answer to it. He was right where he'd dropped himself, his breathing slow, calm, and steady. _So. . . at least you're still alive. _

Shaking her head, she moved to the back doors, and praying she had some modicum of luck, pulled on the handle and pushed - and nearly tumbled over herself as she almost biffed it into the mud. Catching herself on the door, Riley thanked the gods for listening and eased herself outside, breathing in the heavy scent of Forest Downpour and Car Wreck. She looked around the clearing - or what little light was in it - and she could see the edge of a cliffside.

The van had made a _huge _mess coming down, and the more she looked at it, the more Riley had absolutely no idea how in the hell they'd survived it. The cliff stretched up and up and up, and she was absolutely certain she'd been going at _least _a hundred when they'd gone over. . .

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Riley turned her face up to the skies. Fat, heavy drops of rain pattered against her skin, and if only for a moment, she felt at peace.

She was surrounded by the sounds of the rain in the forest. The wind was blowing through the trees, making the branches creak, the thunder rumbling, the smell of the storm. . . all organic. _Too _organic. In the past, there had only been the smell of antiseptic, the chill of the Room, the sugar of the gas. . .

But she was outside now.

And if she didn't get her ass into gear, her freedom was going to be cut very, very short.

Already, she could hear the sounds of men yelling at each other in the distance, probably coming the cliff in search of the wreck. She knew it was only a matter of time before they descended upon them. She looked out into the forest, weighing her options before she padded, barefoot, over to the closest tree. She was utterly drenched at this point, and the hospital gown she wore did little to protect her from the chill the rain brought with it. She pressed herself up against a tree and looked into the dark wood, utterly and totally conflicted.

She could make a break for it.

But how long would she last?

She was weak. Emaciated. She barely had enough energy to stand. She'd had a _seizure_, had been pumped full of drugs for days, months (years?) on end. She'd been tortured. . . the list continued. She doubted he could last long running, quite honestly. But there, in the back of the van - still firmly asleep - lay an alien packing at least two hundred pounds of solid muscle. It she could wake him up, she could make a break for it with him, and they could escape together. . .

If, y'know, their weird truce lasted that long. . .

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Riley took in a steadying breath and decisively, turned back to the van. The alien was sprawled out, laying on his stomach. He was firmly in the clutches of sleep.

"Hey! Wake up!" Riley said, calling out to him. Nothing. Working up the nerve (and remembering his last blowup), Riley started to shake him.

"Hey!"

Frustration began to mount, and Riley growled, feeling particularly brave as she wound back her hand and smacked him in the shoulder.

Nada.

Sighing, and noticing the voices were growing closer, Riley gave up trying to wake him. Grabbing one of his legs, she started tugging him out, and after several minutes of huffing and puffing, she finally managed to do it. He crashed onto the ground, and Riley winced (quietly murmuring an apology) but she continued her task. Dragging him was a test of will and endurance, as he outweighed her by a few hundred pounds and he had way more height on her - but the rain made the ground wet. It was a perfect medium for dragging the unconscious aliens. It offered a bit of lubricant, and after a few tense minutes of maneuvering him, Riley finally managed to drag him into a little ditch.

Pushing back the heavy branches that had fallen on top of it, she shoved the giant alien inside, and let the trees fall back into place.

Blood was rushing through her body, and her muscles were burning. Riley swallowed as she peered around the clearing.

"Wake up soon," She whispered as she got to her feet. "I'll distract them for as long as I can."

It was her only plan of action, really.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she could feel him stir, murmuring a reply, but it was drugged and thick. Breathing out a shaky breath, Riley made quick work of turning back to the clearing and making a complete disaster out of it. She ran this way and that, threw herself in the mud, and obliterated any and all traces of what she'd done. Finally, satisfied with her handiwork, Riley created fresh, new prints. . . of her.

Running right into the heart of the woods.

* * *

She really didn't have to wait that long for the soldiers to become ghosts. They haunted her, chasing her, following minuscule prints she hadn't even realized she'd left.

One moment she would be alone, and the next _they _would be there, intimidating and terrifying in their all-black gear. Her eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, save for the occasional searing flash of lightning that threatened to destroy her retinas, but even she had a hard time discerning soldier from forest. She hunkered down between ferns and a tree trunk, silently wishing that her little hideout for her alien had worked.

At the way these guys were tracking her down, though, she didn't think they were going to fall for her tricks.

Once, one of them had very nearly stepped on her as she'd hunkered down underneath a small tree and a rash of undergrowth. Another instance, and she had almost gotten herself touched. He had stumbled (which was odd, actually, given that he'd seemed so surefooted just moments prior) and his hand had rocketed out to catch himself on the nearest thing. . . a tree.

The very same small tree she'd been pressed up against. Riley had been certain that that was the end because his fingers had brushed against her skin, his hand had been _right there_.

But he hadn't done anything. He just continued on, radioing in to his team that he was moving on to the next sector, that the trail had gone cold. . .

_Maybe he's just playing a game with me_, Riley thought, pressing herself more closely against the tree.

Odd, how she'd managed to elude them for so long - unless, of course, they _were _playing with her, which she really wouldn't doubt. What if their escape had all been planned?

What if it had been _structured _somehow?

Riley bit down on the inside of her cheek as she looked up at the inky black sky above her. She shook her head, slowing her breaths and trying to calm her wildly pounding heart. She couldn't afford to think like that, not now. She just had to be more clever, to think her way out of this. . . Every minute that inched by become more and more torturous. It couldn't have been longer than ten or fifteen minutes since she'd started - when would the alien wake _up _already? She needed him to survive through this mess. . .

A terrifying thought seized her. What if they'd _already _recaptured him, had pumped him full of more drugs?

_Do I really need him to survive? _

In his version of the Room, she'd used some kind of freaky mind power to blow open the cuffs on his hands. . . could she do it again? Riley traced herself back to that instance, and tried to replicate everything that had happened, but when she tried, there was no electricity, no nerve endings crackling. Any attempts she made were met with nothing but silence and empty air.

Fed up, and tired of looking stupid, Riley dropped her hands to her side and closed her eyes.

A light _snap _alerted her to the presence of yet another soldier. She held her breath as her heart began to race again, and she moved her mouth in a silent praywer, hoping and practically _willing _the stupid alien to wake up.

_Please, _she thought at him, _please wake up. I can't do this on my own. I need help. _

A very, very faint stir, but it wasn't much more than a sleepy grunt.

Another snap, closer this time. Lightning glimmered overhead, resounding thunder booming only seconds after.

_If I don't do something soon, I'm going to get caught. But what can I do? I'm weak. I can't fight. . . _

Or. . . or _could _she?

She'd still managed to escape their clutches, playing a dangerous game of hide n seek in the woods. What if she actually put some effort into it and stopped praying for that stupid alien to wake up? Riley had to entertain the notion that he might _not _wake up. She couldn't spend hours in the woods doing this. She was already drained after everything that had happened, and she honestly didn't know how much longer she could continue this stupid game of run-and-find-me.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder.

Riley opened her eyes, resolve steeled. She was about to make this game of hide-n-seek much more adult.

And _bloody_.

But the question remained as to _how. _

The soldier passed by her, ghosting just inches from her head, and at the next rumble of thunder, Riley got up and quickly scampered over to the quickest tree. The soldier was going around in circles, sweeping the ground and forest line with his gun. Riley grit her teeth, and digging her nails into the bark, began to ascend. By the time she reached the first branch, her arms were shaking and she was sweating despite the chill. She crouched there on the thick branch, one hand out on the trunk to steady her, the other hanging down.

Water dripped into her eyes, and mud trickled down the creases of her elbows and knees. Still, she crouched, and waited, pushing her fatigue aside.

The soldier passed under her slowly, and Riley waiting, mentally bidding him not to look up - and he didn't.

Something working in her favor, at the very least.

Still, with his back turned, Riley waited until the last possible second, and finally, she leaped. She collided with his back, bringing him down to the ground hard, and he let out a very undignified squawk as they both tumbled to the wet ground. He moved immediately, wrestling her the other way, but Riley had already grabbed the object of her search: his knife.

She cursed as the holster it was in refused to give it up, but after a moment of fighting, she popped the cover. The man growled, uttering some very choice words, but as he flipped them over, Riley had fished it out of the holster, cocked back her arm, and stabbed it right into his jugular.

Hot blood pulsed over her hand in an instant, and the man jerked back, going limp on top of her. Shoving him, Riley managed to sit up, and she ignored his gurgles as she took the knife out of his neck and liberated him of his gun. His radio crackled, a voice asking him to report, and as Riley stood up and shouldered her new weapon, the radio went silent.

The jig was up: they knew.

Bolting into the forest, Riley kept the gun in her grip - a lot trickier than one might expect, considering she was still holding the knife, too. But she liked the grip in her hands, the stickiness of blood on her skin. . . shaking her head, she kept running, her breath already beginning to burn her lungs.

The shots came just seconds later - that explained a great deal to her.

No wonder she'd always seen one seconds after the other had passed by her - they were essentially moving in a tight circle. Still, Riley hopped through the undergrowth, branches and sticks scratching and stabbing at her body. She ducked behind a tree, holding the gun more firmly in her hands. . . waiting. . . waiting. . .

The soldier blew past her, and Riley calmly took aim and fired.

It didn't kick in her hands like a normal gun - it made a quiet _shew shew_, and white darts flew into the woodwork. A lucky shot landed on the man's calf, and he cursed as he spun around, shooting at her, but the darts flew everywhere - Riley ducked anyway, not wanting to take the chance, dropping to teh ground.

The man groaned, uttering a quiet '_fffuuuccckkk_' before he flopped over and was still.

More voices, more footsteps. Riley shot up to her feet, shouldered her gun, and started running. She didn't know how many soldiers there were, but she had to keep going.

In her brain, she felt the alien stir, rousing slightly, but again, it was hardly more than a mumble. Riley sprinted, each breath feeling like fire, her hair thoroughly drenched and plastered to her head, the hospital gown filthy and clinging to her body. The chill of the rain made her feel numb, frozen so badly she felt like ice had speared into her bones, so it took her a second to gain her footing as she found a slope. The rain, mixed with her general fatigue, made it quite the challenge as Riley booked it-

She winced when she felt a sharp bite in her arm.

Fear made her heart clench and her stomach drop when she realized it was a white dart. She ripped it out of her arm with trembling hands, and tried to run, hoping maybe she was different, that it wasn't as fast-acting as she thought it would be, but just thinking about it made it reality. In an instant, her legs had turned to gelatin, and her body began to feel fuzzy and light, like cotton had been shoved under her skin.

More bites peppered her thighs, and she collapsed, falling to her knees.

Whether it was through experience (on that, she actually gave a weak, morbid chuckle), or just sheer luck, she managed to stay upright. Her hands pressed themselves into the dirt, helping her to stay up, and she sat there, feeling every bit of her hope and exhiliration drain away.

She'd lost the game.

Hands grabbed at her roughly, jerking the gun off of her body and wrenching the knife out of her hand.

Voices spoke to each other, but it was like the words were coming through a tunnel, kept bouncing around.

Riley lifted her head drunkenly and looked up at them, a broken, almost dead smile on her face.

_I guess. . . I guess in the end, I really did try. _

The men were standing around her, but she looked up, away from them, towards the sky (or where she thought it might be).

There.

On the ridge, she could see. . . wind?

Wind.

Wind moving where it had no right to move.

_Look, Suraj, I think I finally got to see the wind spirits, too. _

One of the soldiers bent down, grabbing her head and forcing her to look him in the eye, and she did, smiling.

"S-Suraj," She said, slowly, her voice drugged and thick, "Was r-right. . . wind s-spirits."

The man stared, confused, and turned to say something to his comrade. . . whose chest burst open in a magnificent spray of blood. Two silver blades jutted out of them, wicked-looking and polished to a fine sheen, and utterly, totally, _beautiful_.

Riley knew his blood was misted. She could feel the pinprick dots of warmth hitting her face.

She sat there as she heard the screams, the gunfire, the shouts. . . and then nothing. Black began to cobweb over her vision, and she looked up, finding. . . an alien?

Yeah, she supposed. They looked the same.

It growled and clicked, quirking its head and looking down at her, and Riley grinned up at it, only because she knew she was finally gone.

She'd cracked, because there was no way that there could be more than one alien. . .


	7. Homeward Bound

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Gore. Blood. Death. Cursing.

Will be pretty tame compared to what's to come, but just thought I'd be nice and warn ya.

**Author's Notes:** The bad news: I wandered away for a time because my muse for this story died. There's also a beast of another fanfic I'm trying to finish up, and considering it's only got like, 7 chapters left, I was super excited to try and crawl to the finish line. But I need a bit of a break from that one, so I'm meandering over on back to this one.

The good news, I found the muse again. I started writing and before I knew it this chapter was done. I didn't want to stop and do anything with it until I was done. Which is awesome.

I'm also going to say that Yautja language translations will be held at the bottom of every page, and I'm going to try to keep it limited. I haven't read the comics or the books (but here's to hoping that I can get my hands on copies soon!) so all I have available to me is the 'net and sometimes translations differ. So. I'll probably be building my own "Angel made this Yautja word up" dictionary.

Also, I do apologize for how long I've been gone. But I decided to move halfway across the world, leave my American home behind, and start living and working in another country. And then there was a fire that took my room apart, so there's that. And then my father was in a car wreck. So there was a whole lot of, "What can life do to this author to make her life worse? I have a few ideas. . ."

But I hope the length and the content of this chapter help make up for it. I'm really excited to start diving into the meat of the story!

* * *

"The prospect of going home is very appealing."  
-David Ginola

. . .

"Toto. . . We're not in Kansas anymore."  
-Dorothy

* * *

lol placeholder

Sleep clouded his mind, stubbornly dragged him down into the inky black. He slept, but he was not entirely unaware. He felt despair. Sorrow. Regret. Acceptance. It mixed and swirled everywhere, becoming a nauseating pool of useless emotions. He was glad he slept through this sickness - these things did nothing for him, served him no purpose. It only weighed him down and made him weak.

The fever dream continued, and he felt himself running, but his legs were weak. Short. Too short to be of any use. And his lungs refused to suck in as much air - each breath was excruciating. But he continued on, begging and pleading with something else to awaken-

(_please, please wake up. I can't do this on my own. I need help._)

-but it remained firmly asleep.

Despair.

Panic.

These emotions blotted through him, making the sickness swell. Why could not face this fear, this terror, as a warrior would? No, instead, he found it more fitting to hide, to run away from the Ooman hunters that swept the forest with their primitive sticks. Around him, the elements waged war on the land, the night sky splitting in a puny display of power.

He'd seen more impressive lightning storms on other planets. Weather systems so massive it would make this planet quiver in utter terror.

He clung to a tree, breathing heavily with his half-efficient, stupid lungs, his thoughts tumbling over themselves like a frightened pup-

(_. . . but what can I do? I'm weak. I can't fight. . ._)

And he almost snarled in fury at the thought. Of course he could fight. He'd been _bred _to fight.

Thunder crackled, vibrating the ground with its intensity, and he felt the rabid fear beginning to ease away. Pride and courage made him stand tall, made his thin, frail hands clench into fists. He would fight, he decided. And he would _win_.

Time flashed, and he was struggling, battling against another Ooman. Instead of reaching up and breaking their spine, however, he drove a knife into their throat. Not a clean death, but he'd take it. And then the scenery flashed again. He was running, an Ooman gun in his hands, blood cooling on his skin, battle markings adorning his body.

He took another Ooman down.

But then he collapsed, and the world began to fade into a sickly black.

He paused, however, when he saw a Yautja's mask in front of his face, reflecting an insane, broken smile. . . that Yautja.

He knew this Blooded warrior.

"Mei'hswei**."

The name was foreign. He barely stirred. Who would call him such a thing? He'd been granted the new name of _Subject 001-A_. The only other creature he'd spoken his language to had been the disgusting ape that had dared desecrate the shrine of the Ancient. When she tried to speak his tongue, it sounded like liquid. Not at all guttural and deep like it was supposed to. It was like a pup trying to speak through a mouthful of water.

"Mei'hswei."

A touch came, dragging him up from the dark. Groggy, he stirred, and when he opened his eyes, he wondered why everything was covered in a light mist. It was dark, not piercingly bright as his enclosure had always been. His muscles tensed, but when he flexed his fingers, he found they were not chained over his head. He was laying on the ground, warmth pressing against him. For a moment, he gawked, wondering how such a dream was reality.

How was he not bound, chained, and studded through with Ooman tools?

He moved, his muscles weak, sluggish. He had spent too much time in captivity - he looked like a skeleton. The Oomans, in all their wicked glory, had decided that a '_feeding tube_' was a much more appropriate action than allowing him the privilege of eating. He'd had to endure a silicone-tasting appendage snaking its way down his throat like a Hard Meat's young. . . he shivered at the thought.

"Brother." The voice interrupted him, startling him.

He jerked his head around and saw. . . saw. . .

"Kiande**. . . Am I. . . Have I passed to the next world?" His voice was rough from disuse.

Kiande's expression morphed into one of amusement, though it took him a second to process it. He was used to seeing the squishy faces of Oomans.

"No, my mei'hswei. You have not. I am here for you, brother. We have finally been reunited, Kwei."

Kiande extended a hand, and Kwei accepted it. Part of his mind believed himself to be in a trance. He surely had to be locked away in the box of his own mind - maybe the Oomans had finally cracked him. They had finally divested him of his secrets and were now projecting his beloved brother in front of him. But Kiande's hand was firm and hard in his own, warm and _real_. Kwei felt his entire body shiver in relief. This was no dream. His brother was clearly standing in front of him.

He was aboard a Yautja ship. He was with his brother.

He was _free_.

Kiande's eyes softened, and his brother reached over and clapped his hands over his own and gave him a good shake. Kwei was so weak he rattled about like a young pup, but he hardly cared. He laughed. It was infectious, apparently, as Kiande joined in just a moment later. Kwei shook his brother's shoulders, too, feeling relief and happiness all wrapped up in one big, Yautja-sized package.

He was alive. He was not trapped in an Ooman-engineered hell. His brother had come and saved him.

"Kiande," Kwei said, pausing to look at his brother, "Am I truly here? On a Yautja ship?"

Kiande clicked his mandibles. "yes. You have been asleep for six hours. I treated you in my medical bay - whatever the Oomans used, it was extremely effective. I filtered it out of your blood stream, brother. Do not be afraid, the poison plagues you no longer."

Kwei glanced around. "In the medical bay. . ."

His brother shook his head, "I transferred you to an empty room. I did not know how you would be when you awakened."

Ah. Fair enough. He'd woken up violently plenty of times in his life for his clanmates to be wary of it.

Kwei let out a giant, relieved sigh. He shook his head, feeling his dreadlocks on his shoulders. And just for a moment, he reveled in the sensation. He'd been chained and subdued for so long he'd forgotten the feel of his own dreadlocks on his skin.

"I am not afraid." He finally replied, "I am furious. Beyond furious."

Saying the words out loud gave them life. Rage built in his core, well-stoked and well fed. Its appetite, however, had been neglected for entirely too long. He growled, feeling his fury blister his blood under his skin, his fingers curling into fists. . . and he did not feel the well-known prick of his talons against his palms.

No, his talons had been razed and buffed to better help keeping him from skinning the Oomans alive with his bare hands. He had to give them credit where credit was due: they had kept him subdued. But they had never tamed him.

He had demonstrated just a fraction of his fury and ferocity when he had broken free.

Kiande clapped his shoulder again, breaking him from his thoughts, "Brother, do not dwell on the past-"

At that, Kwei slapped his brother's hand away and snarled. He was taller than Kiande, but emaciated, and he knew he hardly looked imposing. Another piece of kindling to add to the eager fire of rage in him.

"You do not know what humiliations I endured at the hands of those uncivilized _apes._" He growled, his voice low and threatening. "They stripped my honor from me. They made a _fool _of me."

Kiande hardly looked intimidated by his display. Instead, his brother took it in stride, and he bowed his head slightly. Kwei stood there, his breaths heaving in and out like he'd tried to outrun the gods themselves.

His brother did not deserve this anger, this fury - he knew it. But after so long, after so little blood that had been shed, it felt incredible to have an outlet.

"No. We return to the Thwei clan ship, brother. I have reported you found."

Fear clawed its way from his gut, and he felt like a coward when he stopped, his fury dissipating in an instant.

"I cannot go." He croaked. "I have brought dishonor to the Thwei, brother. They will not take me back."

Kiande shook his head, grasping his arm and giving it a squeeze. "No, my brother. The clan has been searching for you. _I _have been searching for you. The Elder is welcoming you with open arms. The Oomans showed cunning in capturing you, and wit in managing to keep you for as long as they have. They were a worthy opponent. And you, Kwei, are newly Blooded."

Excuses.

Politics.

Kwei knew that he'd failed. the Oomans had never managed to capture a Yautja before. And he, Kwei of clan Thwei, had been the first to be their little plaything. As much as he longed for the embrace of his sorely-missed clan members, the Yautja felt him deflate, felt the anger leaving as guilt and shame swirled through his body. Much as he loathed to admit it, how could he face the clan now?

A true Yautja warrior would have clawed their way from his restraints with nothing but their mandibles.

He did not deserve the forgiveness of the Thwei Elder.

He did not deserve mercy at all.

Kwei stood there, feeling as though his emotions, not logic, were guiding his mind and heart. When did a warrior show such weakness in front of other Yautja? He breathed in, trying to keep everything in check, his words failing him. He should be exiled. He should have been left at the hands of the Oomans and their tools.

Kiande, as if sensing his thoughts, used his shoulder and began to steer him deeper into the Yautja ship, leaving the recovery room behind. "Ease these worries from your mind, brother. Come. Let me feed you. You hardly have muscle anymore, and I will tell you all that has transpired in your absence."

"How long have I-"

"We will discuss that over food, Kwei. You need sustenance. And I just happen to have your favorite Yeyande** meat on board."

His stomach perked up at that, beating back the guilt and shame for a moment.

"Kiande, were you the one assigned to Earth?"

His brother's chest swelled as the other warrior escorted him down the corridor and to the ship's on-board mess hall.

"I demanded it." His brother answered. "I knew you would not give in to any hunt without a fight. I was waiting for you to emerge on the ridge when Ooman hunters showed themselves. Cunning, these ones were. Three of them approached me, injected me with the same poison they gave you. Ghan'ye severed their heads from their necks when I fell. We attempted to reach you, but the Elder called us back once their objective was made clear."

"Retreat?" Kwei said, his voice dripping in shock. "He ordered a retreat?"

"No." Kiande replied. "The Oomans sought to capture and study - numbers were not on our side, and to do anything else would have alerted the rest of the planet. The Elder did not want their attempts bearing any more results. . . Trust me, Kwei. I did not want to leave that day. I have been on Earth every day since, scouring this mudball for you."

As they walked, Kwei's eyes wandered, eagerly devouring the familiar insides of a Yautja ship. Of _Kiande's _ship. Trophies and well-earned clan mementos adorned the walls. It was clean, the mist parting as they walked through it, the heat caressing his skin like that of a mate.

As they made it closer to the mess hall, Kwei's eyes caught sight of something brown and lanky. He stopped, Kiande just a second behind him.

Behind a thick pane of glass, in a bio-containment chamber, the Ooman who had been in captivity alongside him slept, oblivious to the world. The Yautja had assumed that the silent his head had been granted was because the Ooman was dead. But no.

The wretched bug was still alive, completely and totally unguarded.

On instinct, his mind reached out, wanting to latch onto _something. _It was a facet of himself that had been born out of routine, habit, and the need to feel sane amidst the drugs and the torture. But he stopped himself - why should he? There was no reason to do such an act anymore.

He was back among his kind.

If he wanted, he could open the lid to the containment unit and strangle the life out of her before she even had time to blink open her eyes. Anger began to ripple from him, and Kiande stepped forward, coming flush beside him.

"I did not tend to her wounds - she did not merit my mercy. She did, however, save you." Kiande delivered clinically.

"_What?_" The word was hot, dripping with acid. Kwei's head snapped to his brother.

"She covered you in a pitiful excuse for a blind, drew the Ooman hunters away from you. Worthless Oomans. . . But this one bought enough time for me to locate you. So she lives - for now. The medical team wants to ensure there is nothing we should not know about lurking inside of her."

Kwei stared at her, at her alien face, at the way the glass fogged when she breathed. Kiande spoke truth - her wounds had not been seen to. She was still heavily injured, wet, and covered in filth from what looked like forest undergrowth. But the longer Kwei stared at her, the longer he remembered her sniveling voice in his head. . .

And the longer he realized he didn't care. He turned, joining his brother a second time as he smelled delicious meats shimmering in stews just a few rooms away.

"Jettison her from the airlock when they're done." Kwei said, his voice cold.

Kiande laughed. "In due time. Let us feast! You are small as a newborn pup!"

* * *

Memories were washing over her in waves. Riley was held captive under the current, stuck between the hazy twilight of waking and sleeping. . . and she tried to remember.

How was her heart still beating? How was she still _alive?_

She remembered. . . a boy. Just thinking bout him brought a stab of pain into her chest. The waters above her shifted, painting a picture of him, and the more she remembered, the clearer the portrait became. He was near and dear to her, had his own special place in her heart. He was a sweet boy, and she'd loved to tussle his surprisingly soft black hair. His expressive brown eyes were always open with curiosity, and his olive skin always crinkled at the corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled. . .

"_Rileh_." He'd called her.

He could never say without an accent.

The longer she stared at him, recalled every detail that she could. . . she realized that she could not remember his name. She wracked her brain, trying to rewind time back to when they'd first met. After countless minutes of attempting this, she finally came to the conclusion that his name started with an 'S'. But the rest of it eluded her. And that brought about pain, because she knew she should remember more. She _needed _to remember more. But she couldn't. . .

Against her will, the ocean of memories shifted, obliterating the portrait, and she was taken to a place she couldn't remember. A soft keening noise made her look around, and she found herself staring at a tiny, pathetic ball of a human curled up in a corner. They were a tiny call, rocking back and forth, mewling inconsolably.

Riley realized with a start that it was _her_. God, she hardly looked human. . .

"_My name. . .He wants to know my name. W-What's my _name?" She sobbed, repeating the sentence over and over again. She looked like a wreck. The hospital gown had been shoved up, her skin was covered in bruises of various sizes and colors, and she noticed that she was thicker - her body hadn't whittled away to nothing. When had this happened?

Something grated in her brain, intruding and scraping against things she didn't know she could _feel_, and Riley watched as her phantom double started clawing at her head, mewls turning into moans of pain.

Words. There were words being spoken to her, words she could not understand. A furious snarl sounded, like that of a seriously pissed of jungle cat - her inability to comprehend what he was saying pissed him off. More words spoken to her, echoing and reverberating, in a language that couldn't have possibly been human.

And then a wicked laugh.

"_You wish name?_"

The rocking stopped. His voice was heavily accented, and his syllables were all wrong, but she could understand it. Riley flinched back when she saw the open desperation and sorrow on her double's face - god, she looked like a monster. Her hair wasn't as lanky, but it was matted and tangled, and half of her head had been recently shaved. Thick, puckered surgical cuts ran over the side of her scalp, raw and tender, held together by fresh stitches. . .

"_Yes. W-What's my n-name?" _

Another heavy, ugly laugh.

"_I give you name_."

The ocean shifted again, tearing her away from the scene.

And then it began to dissipate, pushing her up and out of the depths of unconsciousness, and even though she was curious to finish that memory she couldn't even recall, she began to wake up.

And in true Riley fashion, the first thing she noticed was that she was cold.

Actually, she was _freezing_, despite the heat that was licking at her skin, pressing into the core of her, infiltrating her very _bones_. Even with the hot humidity lingering over her, she still felt cold. _Nothing on this planet will ever make me warm again_, she groused. The Room had sucked away her sanity, her soul, her body heat. . .

Lucidity trickled back to her in a small stream, and as she began to wake up, Riley started to wonder why the hell it was so warm. God, she felt like she was sweating. The Room was always chilly - she'd never managed to huddle against anything long enough for a spot to warm up. What little body heat she generated was always leeched away by the cold walls or the floor.

Hands grabbed her, moving her, and they made nicks on her skin more than once. And those oddly felt less like human fingernails and more like. . . like. . .

Her eyes fluttered open, and the lights she was met with were dim. She groaned, swallowing against a tight dryness in her throat. Every part of her ached, felt bruised, battered, bloody, and _raw_. It was like something had grabbed at her insides and swirled them around with a rusty fork. Worse yet, she probably had one of the _worst _headaches this side of the country. She felt her lips twitch into a pale imitation of a wry smile - the list was ten miles long at this point.

It was nice of the White Coats to finally dim the lights, though. And change the color of the Room to black-

Wait.

_What? _

Panic gripped her, and Riley became awake in less than a heartbeat. For a long, long moment, she stared at the interior of the Room. . . no, no. _A _room. . . and noted it was not _the _Room. The infamous, white-washed Room constructed of white and metal and plastic. This room was not that Room.

Her brain got stuck in that track for a moment, and there was an endless loop of _Room _and _not Room_. Finally, however, she forced her head to move, to take in her surroundings. She saw a language that looked foreign to her but vaguely familiar at the same time. It was etched everywhere, and the longer she stared at it, the more the feeling intensified. It was like the name of somebody that was on the tip of her tongue. It also made her headache worse, so she finally tore her eyes away, and her gaze landed on something else.

A hologram.

In a decidedly alien panel.

Slowly, Riley pushed herself up, fighting the way her body swayed, the way weakness dragged her down, and though her muscles burned and cramped, she forced herself to try and take in deep, easy breaths. The entire interior of the area she was in screamed "medical" but it didn't look _human_.

Riley felt the world spinning around her as she tried to take it all in. Her heart started to pound and the more she breathed, the more it seemed to be unsatisfying. She was vaguely aware of lights and panels beginning to flash, several of the machines producing a grating noise that raked fingernails down her eardrums. Her breaths weren't enough anymore. They came faster and shallower, and she gripped the metal surface she was laying on, trying not to fall forward.

The memories she'd been shifting through crashed down on her all at once, eager to answer the questions swimming in her brain.

Disjointed pictures poured through her vision: the man she'd touched. They way he'd crumpled into a little ball. The van. Driving over the road, hitting the cliffside. . . hide n' seek in the woods. She remembered blood misting, looking at her own broken, insane smile on a mask with gleaming metal and wide eyes. . .

She vaguely heard footsteps, and then a voice - except it wasn't human. It made clicks, growls, buzzes and snarls. Hands seized her, and she looked to the owner, momentarily shaken free of her mind. . . and she froze.

No way. It wasn't possible. How was she staring at another one of _him? _

Fear, confusion, and adrenaline all clouded her thoughts, but she realized she was hiccuping, trying to breathe. Black cobwebbed her vision, and a new terror began to grip her.

Another sound rose in her mind - a snarl. It took her a precious second to recall that her head space did not belong to her, that it was a time-share condo, and by that time she felt rage licking at her insides, the voice in her head snapping at her, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

Through the fog, she felt a needle prick her skin, experienced a cold pressure spreading through her bicep.

Her lungs opened, and she sucked in a deep breath, oxygen flooding through her.

_Breathe! _

Oh. Well. She knew what he was saying now. And he'd never really been one for pep talks. It was normal for him to be entirely pissed off at her for no good reason.

Whatever the alien had given her forced her lungs to remain open, and Riley closed her eyes and concentrated on sucking in air again. The creature standing next to her made a few short noises before he moved away and left her, leaving her alone once more.

Riley took a few minutes to gather herself. She forced herself to orient to reality - she was no longer in the hands of the White Coats. She'd escaped the forest. . . somehow. Now she had to find out where the hell she was. As she evened out her breaths, she tentatively allowed her mind to open up and brush against his.

He was distracted, didn't even notice the contact. But she gleaned images and memories. Slowly and carefully (he was better at the whole 'mental' thing than she was), she ferreted away bits and pieces, hoping to put together more of the puzzle. And when she finally discovered what the story was, she felt like she was about to have a panic attack all over again. She wasn't in the Room. . .

She wasn't on Earth anymore, for that matter.

She was on a fucking alien _spaceship. _

In _space_.

Her mind reeled, but she shouldn't have been surprised - she really shouldn't have. But the smaller, more rational part of her brain (a tiny speck of her sanity she'd kept from the White Coats), decided that checking out was the best option. It curled up in a ball like how she'd seen herself earlier, refusing to operate anymore, and even encouraged her to follow suit.

Riley shook her head. No, she could deal with this. She was on an alien spaceship and she was now surrounded by tons more of his kind. Alright - she could live with that. . . no, she really couldn't, but she had to deal with the _in the now _instead of thinking about going crazy.

She forced her brain to work, to push past the splitting headache she had. _Why did they save me? Why am I here? Why didn't they leave me? _

Why, why, why. . .

Opening her eyes, she decided to look at the interior of the medical room a second time. The answers were right in front of her. In a way, she supposed, she should be thanking them. She was no longer in the Room, or at the hands of the White Coats. They'd rescued her. . . now time to figure out why.

Old Riley would have joked about this being a bad plot to a sci-fi movie. Post-Room-Riley was content with just staring at a wall. The entire thing was ridiculous.

Finally feeling semi-rational, Riley began a second observation of the medical room. And she was shocked at what she saw. It was high-tech and futuristic-looking, everything that she'd expected of a stereotypical alien ship. But the tools, tucked away behind cases and semi-transparent covers, looked kind of terrifying. And t also appeared as though they were meant to instill a great deal of pain. Flinching away from them, she continued to look around, and eventually her eyes landed back on the hologram. It looked human enough. She flicked her eyes up to the head, and found a strange protrusion from the skull. . . ah. It was hers.

Tentatively her head crept up to the side of her head, inching forward, wondering if it was. . . with a heavy sigh, she dropped her hand when her fingertips came into contact with the machinery flush with her scalp. They hadn't taken it out of her skull.

Okay. Whatever. she could deal with that. right now, there were weirder things going on. Turning again, Riley came face-to-face with a giant pane of glass - the room she was in was separated from another. And in that one, _he _was standing, arms crossed over his chest.

And for the first time since they'd been imprisoned, Riley got a good, hard look at him. He stood a solid seven feet tall, putting her earlier estimations to shame. His body did seem to be entirely made of muscle - his damn muscles had muscles. His skin was colored a light tan, like he'd pulled a pallet of colors from the desert. The outside of his body was a dark beige, but closer to his chest and stomach were dappled a lighter shade of tan. Thick, shiny dreadlocks hung down from his oblong-shaped head, studded through with pieces of metal.

Compared to the one that had helped her from her panic attack, he looked small. They were roughly the same height, and while her mental roommate had muscles, the other one had _more_. The thicker one was scarred to hell and back, his darker skin (a deeper brown color) threaded through with an intricate weave of old and new scar tissue.

She could tell her partner in crime was irritated - she didn't need to brush up against his mind to see that. The second alien - presumably the one that had helped her not die from asphyxiation - was speaking with him. Riley reached out, wondering what they were talking about, and quickly realized her mistake when he noticed her intrusion, and his eyes flicked to her.

And she was not prepared for the withering glare he sent her way.

She shrank away from it, wondering just what the hell she'd done to earn such nastiness. If it hadn't been for her, he never would have broken free of the damn White Coats. . . and, she grudgingly thought, if wasn't for him, she would still be there too. It'd been a team effort.

The Doctor Alien (as Riley dubbed him) perked up, looking between the two of them. They shared another short conversation, where he reached over, squeezed her roommate's shoulder, and began walking into her room. Riley watched his progress, but her eyes flicked back to her companion, wondering why he was so angry.

And for some reason, a feeling of dread began to settle in. The smug, dark look in his eyes was not one she wanted to see. It promised something horrible.

Doctor Alien came into her room, and stepped over to the wall, opening up a canister and withdrawing a box of tools.

"You are on our ship. Do you know this?"

It startled her that she understood what he was saying - but then she realized he was speaking in English.

"Ah. . . yes." She replied, a few seconds too late. He looked like he'd been about to prompt her again. Opening the canister, Doctor Alien looked at an array of tubes, and another needle. He browsed them, but his movements were off, like he was trying to appear far too casual, his talon rapping over one of the canisters.

"I'm sure this must be very confusing."

Riley didn't say anything, she knew a rhetorical question when she heard one. She was, however, trying to wrestle with the feeling of dread in her stomach. She glanced to the window to the other room again, but her roommate was leaving. She reached out a second time, and got an impression of satisfaction and smugness - like he'd won.

Riley wanted to know why. She narrowed her focus, ignoring whatever Doctor Alien was saying, and did her best to slide through his defenses. She felt Doctor Alien grab her arm, but she didn't fight him. Finally, her efforts were rewarded.

_I don't care what happens to her. _

Her stomach sank, and the dread began to grow.

_Go ahead and kill her. _

Riley felt her heart stop.

". . . thing is fine. This is a sedative-"

She saw the glimmer of the needle, aimed expertly at the junction of ehr arm.

No. _No! _

They were going to _kill her! _

Riley freaked out, grabbing the Doctor Alien's arm and trying to shove the needle away. Knowing the act was over, he released her, and Riley tried to get up, to run, but he was stronger, faster, and taller. He pinned her down with just one arm, roughly shoving her back onto the table and driving the air from her lungs. She wheezed, the world spinning around a second time. No, she couldn't die.

Not after she'd escaped from the Room.

The alien adjusted his grip on the needle, getting a better grip, and fear and horror made time slow. She watched as it descended a second time - whatever was in that needle was going to kill her.

"I commend your spirit, Ooman." Doctor Alien said, "But your time is over."

No.

She felt the needle against her skin.

No.

She'd come too far for this. She'd escaped death at the hands of the black serpents. She'd escaped the White Coats. She'd killed people - she fucking painted herself with their _goddamn blood_. And now she was going to die, pinned down to a table, Doctor Alien telling her that this was it, this was the end of the line?

Yeah, she might have considered suicide an option ten million times, once upon a midnight dreary. But if anybody was going to take her life, it was going to be _her_.

Unexpectedly, Riley felt a rage and a fury so deep and potent flood through her, it made the entirety of her body tingle. She felt a force growing inside of her, escalating the splitting pain in her head. Warmth gushed down her face, blood flowing from her nose, but she hardly cared.

The strange power, certainly not hers, not by any stretch, was crashing against her insides, demanding release, screaming at her to _survive_.

One heartbeat, the power was caged. And the next, it exploded. She felt the entire room shiver from the force of it, watched as Doctor Alien was roughly shoved back and hit the wall with a loud crash.

Riley didn't stop to admire the damage, but she did hear the electrical sizzle of computers frying, heard the fracturing of what sounded like glass. She got up, and though her body was drained, adrenaline gave her enough strength to bolt like a rabbit from the medical room. Instinct had her ducking and weaving out of doorways, darting through rooms that looked to have various equipment, but Riley paid it no mind. She had to find someplace safe.

She'd escaped one prison to land in another hellhole.

Except this one was filled with 'roided aliens.

She hadn't realized she'd latched so firmly onto her time-share roommate's mind until she realized she wasn't running with a plan. She was just blindly darting out of the medbay. but he knew the guts of the ship inside and out.

Exiting out of a final doorway, Riley skidded to a rough halt as two more aliens saw her. One of them uttered a sharp bark, but she didn't stick around for them to grab her. She fled. She ran faster than humanly possible, searching for an escape, a way out, a safe haven, _something_. She hadn't come this far to die now. The sound of their footsteps behind her gave her the fuel to run faster.

As she ran, she saw the air flicker. She couldn't afford to get distracted, but her eyes kept glancing over to the strange anomaly, and the more she looked, the more it began to form into a shape. And before her eyes, she saw a toddler-sized alien drop out of thin air, dashing further down the hallway. He crashed to his knees, ducked down by the side of the floor, and dove into a vent. Maybe she was hallucinating, or maybe it was something else - Riley didn't know.

Didn't care.

She just knew that it promised her the refuge she wanted. Throwing the last of her energy into running, and echoing the image's movements, she dropped to her knees and shoved herself inside. The vent was made of cold metal and ribbed - it tore open her wounds. She felt the familiar, hot pulse of blood over her skin, but she wriggled her way in deeper, sensing freedom was just another slide down the vent-

A hand grabbed her ankle.

Riley let out a panicked scream as the hand, with strength that was completely unfair, began to haul her out, as though she weighed next to nothing. Instinct made her turn, made her thrash and writhe uncontrollably, and when she felt the arm bend to give her another tug, it gave her enough leeway to move. Riley chambered back her leg and kicked.

The alien let out a snarl, so she kicked him again, and this time she felt something break under the impact. It dropped her, stunned, and Riley hauled her body back further into the vent. . .

And she fell into open air.

She fell into the black, too tired to even scream. The vent turned, and Riley smashed into the side of it, the wind knocked out of her a second time. She tumbled and turned, the wind rushing through her ears in a roar. . .

Until, finally, she hit the bottom.

The pain took her under.

* * *

Ooman == Yautja word for 'human'

Mei'hswei == Yautja word for 'brother'

Kiande == Kwei's brother. His name means 'hard'

Kwei == Kiande's brother. His name means 'sly, tricky'

Hard Meat == Xenomorph.

Yeyande == Yautja hunting game. I created this word.

Ghan'ye == Yautja warrior. Name has no meaning.


	8. Paya's Gift

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was trying to gain honor and prestige. But life had other plans. Now, bound together, they must survive as a single unit. Easier said that done, considering that she's human and he's an alien. Oh, and there's the small matter of government experimentation. . .

**Warnings: **Gore. Blood. Death. Cursing.

Will be pretty tame compared to what's to come, but just thought I'd be nice and warn ya.

**Author's Notes: **I know, I'm terrible. I do like cliffhangers. There's just something about writing such an emotionally charged moment, get everyone hooked on it, and then just leave it hanging. The good news is I'm - again - addicted to this story, and I really want to see it through. So I come baring a new chapter. I promised some lovely reviewers I'd release it on Friday. More good news is I just finished writing and editing it, so here you go.

It's probably Thursday where you are. It's Friday here. So Friday it is.

Thank you for all of the kind words. I really do like this story! Arc one: escaping evil government clutches, is now over. Arc two: surviving is about to begin. I'm pretty sure you guys know where this is headed!

Thank you very much for reading Symbiosis and I hope you can enjoy! If you have any critique, any questions, anything you want to ask me, shoot me a PM or leave a review and I'll answer as promptly as I'm able.

* * *

"I was always told I was special. And I was also assured that I had a gift and a purpose."  
-Ashley Judd

* * *

Kwei didn't know who was more angry. . . the hunting party, or himself.

The Yautja stared blankly at the Blooded warriors around him. Ghan'ye stood towards the front of the pack. The gathering was small, comprising of only five warriors, but Kwei bet trophies that Ghan'ye was the only one who could truly match his rage. Partially because the older Yautja was covered in a myriad of bruises from when the Ooman had sent him flying into the wall. That, and their resident medic disliked when his medical bay was damaged.

He _had _warned the medic that the Ooman had been upgraded. That she had odd mental abilities - but she was terrible at using them.

Apparently, however, even rats could conjure enough fear to set that power into motion. She was surviving like a rat might, running and hiding.

He'd felt it, of course. Her mind had become a mess of thoughts he couldn't even begin wading through, but he picked out the words '_no_' and '_survive_' easily enough. Absolutely hilarious, given the fact that she'd dreamed and fantasized of killing herself more times than he'd bothered to keep track of. And here the Yautja were going to give her a peaceful death, something she hardly deserved. . . but at least it was fitting of someone of her stature.

They'd intended to put her down like an Ooman dog. She was too wounded, too past her prime to bother killing her in a hunt. She'd outlived her purpose in this world. As Ghan'ye had told him, she would have received a sedative, and then a paralytic agent to stop her heart. She never would have known that she'd passed from this world to the next. But now?

Kwei chuckled. Now, they were going to make sure it _hurt_. She'd proven that she didn't want to flee this life without a fight.

And a fight they were willing to give.

"Why are there so many?" Kiande growled. "Only one Blooded need chase after this Ooman."

"She poses no challenge." Kwei added. "She's _weak_." He spit the word like it was acid.

She was a pathetic excuse for a Ooman. He'd seen younger pups who had more fortitude than she.

Ghan'ye finally looked up, his eyes shining with anger. "She escaped to the lower levels, Kiande. Have you any idea what lurks in the underbelly of our ship?"

"Of course. The wretched cowards we need to strand on a planet and leave them there." Kiande barked in response.

Kwei was intelligent enough not to growl at Ghan'ye. Their medic was not known for his long patience. He had a short temper, and an arm that was accurate in throwing things at his patient's heads. Kwei had firsthand experience in this - the back of his head still hurt from Ghan'ye chucking a canister at him earlier.

"Then you would know, _Newly-Blooded_," Ghan'ye snapped, "That there are at least fifteen of them down there. Five Blooded should be plenty - Unhonored are dangerous and unpredictable. We will not be together, if that is what worries you. We will split up and chase the Ooman alone. I trust you can handle a few Unhonored if they choose to pursue you."

Kiande's chest swelled. "Of course. I've only lost one wrestling match, Ghan'ye."

Kwei had to resist the urge to stare blankly at his brother. Wrestling a fellow Yautja and attempting to fight an Unhonored were two different battles entirely. . . but like he was one to try and inflate his own ego. He'd never battled an Unhonored before, either. Or a Bad Blood, for that matter.

"I tire of conversation. Let the hunt _begin_." Another Yautja growled.

Kwei clicked in agreement.

"The Ooman is not to be killed in the lower levels." Another Blooded said, "Such a death is reserved only for the Unhonored. Bring her to the brig-"

"_What?" _Kwei bristled, clenching his fists in rage, "After _everything_, she-"

"Still deserves to die with a modicum of honor. You would taint your own so easily as to discard everything this Ooman has accomplished?"

"Her '_feats_' are hardly worth noticing!" Kwei snapped. He felt like he was a second away from launching himself at the other Yautja, and only the smallest speck of common sense had him holding back. The older clan member easily outweighed him by two hundred pounds, and Kwei was still weak from his time in Ooman captivity. While it would soothe his anger, it was a fight he would lose.

He'd only just returned to his clan. He did not wish to start tainting what little honor he'd reclaimed so quickly.

"Feats they still are." The medic replied easily. "The Ooman deserves to die this way, at least. Now come, join. . . and note that I did not say the Ooman was to remain unharmed. . ."

Kwei's anger lessened in a heartbeat, and he grinned, unholy anticipation flooding through his veins. He couldn't wait. He was fairly certain that he'd have to use cunning of his own to beat his fellow clanmates to the human, but he knew from experience that their bones were frail. They snapped with ease, and their screams were something savor.

The doors to the lower levels began to hiss open, and Kwei shifted his weight from one foot to the next, tense, waiting-

"Wait!"

Ghan'ye.

Heads swiveled in his direction. Ghan'ye had his head perked to the side, as if he were listening to something. A moment later, the medic straightened.

"Seal the doors, the hunting party is not to advance. Kwei, report to the Elder."

And just like that, his rage was back in full force.

"_WHAT?_" He snarled.

Common sense was drowned in a flood of fury. He advanced on the medic, intent on wringing his neck-

Ghan'ye moved too quickly for the younger Yautja to see, but he felt the back of his skull crack against the wall, and the wind left his lungs in a noisy rush. He wheezed, struggling to understand what had just happened. Ghan'ye's face loomed in his vision, and the older Yautja narrowed his eyes on Kwei.

"You are to show respect for my station, _pup_." The medic growled. "I forgive you for this blight, but it is obvious that your time in Ooman captivity has addled that Newly-Blooded brain of yous. Now. Collect yourself, and I pray to the gods that you do not show such disobedience in front of the Elder. He has ordered this. You are to _obey_."

Ghan'ye released the vice-like grip he had on Kwei's neck, and the younger warrior slid down the wall and to his feet. He stared at Ghan'ye, breathing slowly, willing himself not to cough or wheeze as air filtered back into his crushed windpipe. Ghan'ye met his stare unflinchingly, and finally, with a curt, short gesture, Kwei inclined his head slightly, and spread his palms. The universal sign for forgiveness.

Ghan'ye answered him with a chuff, and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him from the wall and door and ushering him down the hallway.

"Your temper remains unchanged, Kwei. No, go to the Elder. He has requested you - make haste, you know he admires punctuality."

Kwei did, knowing this incredibly well. He'd been called before the Elder a time or two before in his life, and most of those times had elicited him being in trouble. The Thwei Elder was a stoic Yautja, and Kwei had never seated himself with the warrior to speak of his triumphs. Older Yauta explained that their Elder had been on many a hunt, and had seen many wars in his lifetime. . . but those times had passed. The'd filtered into the archives of time.

The clans were at peace. . . mostly.

Jogging down the hallways, Kwei made a hasty path to the Elder, and along the route, he tried to calm his anger. Ghan'ye had forgiven him his temper. The Elder of their clan would not be as forgiving. Kwei knew that public humiliation events - like lashings - were incredibly common when somebody disrespected the Elder, or had been foolish enough to try and challenge him. Kwei was not willing to go through such a spectacle so quickly, not after being taken back in by his clan.

As Kwei approached his quarters, he encountered no guards. The Elder had no need of them, often citing the day he required another Yautja to guard his private rooms on his own ship was the day he'd willingly go into a Queen Hard Meat's nest with nothing but his bare hands and no armor. And Kwei believed him.

Their Elder held his station for as long as he had for a reason. And when Kwei had been younger, he'd once used the vents to explore the ship, to crawl into forbidden rooms with secret treasures. . . and one of those had been the Elder's trophy room.

And what a sight that been to look upon.

Before Kwei could wave his hand over the scanner to indicate he was present, the door opened. The Elder had been waiting for him. He entered without delay, bowing his head and crossing his arm over his chest. The Elder was standing by a bay of windows, looking out into the cosmos, arms resting at his sides. If Kwei hadn't known he was an Elder, he would have mistaken him for a regular Blooded. The only tell-tale sign that he was aging were the minute flecks of gray at the crowns of his dreadlocks.

"Elder Bhu'ja." Kwei intoned, clicking his mandibles.

"Newly-Blooded." The Elder replied. "I have heard many interesting things since your return. . . I would enjoy hearing them from the source."

"Of course." He replied.

He took a moment to breathe, to push the Ooman and the cancelled hunt from his mind. He could not act like an entitled pup stomping his food and demanding to go. He had to listen to the Elder.

"_Use your sense, brother, and not your temper_." Kiande often advised him. Kwei knew he had a temper - but directing that to the Elder would most certainly not be the most intelligent idea.

"Start from the beginning, pup," Bhu'ja said, never moving from the glass, "Leave no detail untouched. Tell me everything. . . especially that which involves the Ooman."

Kwei did. He had no secrets to hide, only shame.

Shame that he'd failed, that he'd allowed himself to be held in Ooman captivity. But he divulged everything, recounting the first time he could hear the Ooman's voice in his mind, the number of times he'd tried to kill her, and finally, their bid to freedom. His tone changed, he knew, and he felt like he was swallowing jagged blades when he explained that she had concealed him and led the Ooman hunters away, pathetic as her attempts had been.

When he finished, the Elder was silent, staring out the window.

Kwei stood, exercising patience, and finally, after minutes elapsed, the Elder hummed.

"Many hunts, I have seen. Many creatures, many worlds. . . but only once have I encountered a Yautja with the abilities you claim."

Kwei blinked. "Elder?"

"A curious Blooded. He belonged to another clan. But I fear his mind was unstable, and his life was cut short. . ." The Elder paused, and even in the glass, Kwei could see his eyes, knew that the Yautja wanted to say more, but he opted not to. ". . . But that clan honored and revered him for the time that he was alive. He excelled at hunts. . . Even I was impressed."

Kwei didn't know how to take that. Did that mean the Elder had expectations? Or. . . would he succumb to the same fate? He couldn't imagine a worse death - losing sanity in his own mind. . .

"You do posses this abilities, pup? Or is it strictly the Ooman?"

Snapping back to attention, Kwei paused, looking around the room, and spotted a tiny bauble of stone on the Elder's desk. Taking care, the Yautja instinctively raised his hand, focused, and the bauble shivered as it hovered in the air. . . for a second. It clattered back onto the desk, whole and unharmed. The Elder's eyes watched him in the reflection on the glass, taking in the display, but he had yet to turn around.

Kwei was inwardly impressed with himself. Before his period in Ooman captivity, he would have been amazed at this ability. Now, having possessed it for so long, he barely gave it much thought. It would be unfair on a hunt, if he were to channel this and enhance his odds of winning. And now, according to the Elder, there was a strong possibility that he could go insane. . . when the silence weighed too heavily in the air, Kwei decided to speak, if only to distract himself from his thoughts.

"I can. It is untrained. I was able to channel it through the connection I share with the Ooman. I crushed Ooman hunters, broke their bones, split them in two. . . it comes to me more easily than the wretch."

The Elder clicked his mandibles. "Intriguing. And you share the same mind?"

"Sei-i.**"

"Elaborate."

"I feel what she feels. Her aches and pains are sometimes my own. I hear her thoughts, and her emotions are unfiltered - she experiences much fear and cowardice. We share a parasitic bond, Elder. I wish it removed - allow me to kill the Ooman."

It felt good to take a little jab at the Ooman female, even if it was tiny.

The Elder turned, and Kwei felt his satisfaction evaporate in a heartbeat. He did not look pleased.

No, in fact, he looked _pissed_.

"Tell me, pup. Do you enjoy spitting in Paya's face?"

The question caught Kwei off guard. He'd never been overtly religious, and while he did believe in the existence of Paya and Cetanu (and he paid his due respects), he never believed them responsible for his accomplishments. _He _had won his trophies, earned his scars, had tried the way of the warrior. Not the gods. But the Elder, apparently. . . Kwei growled. He could already see where this was going.

"No." Kwei replied.

The Elder stared him down, not moving, his entire body calm, but his eyes reflected his anger.

"Would you shun a gift Paya bestowed upon you?"

"No." He tried to keep his voice level, but a small hint of a snappish tone emerged.

The Elder had good hearing. His eyes narrowed, and he placed his palms down on the flat desk before him, maps and holograms scattering under his fingers. When he snarled, the sound made a shiver crawl down Kwei's spine.

"That is _exactly _what the Ooman is, pup! She is female. She is _Blooded_. You found her in the temple of an Ancient, and she wielded the ki'cti-pa and killed a Hard Meat. And now you share something that has not been seen in our race for generations. And your reaction to Paya's offer is - as the Oomans would say - '_go fuck yourself?_'"

Kwei suppressed his own anger, though it was a struggle. He stood there silently, taking the tongue lashing, staring the Elder in his eyes and never breaking contact. It was the only act of rebellion he could manage.

"Insolent _whelp_," The Elder growled, "I should exile you for your behavior. Instead of taking a moment and using that thick head of yours to _think, _you see fit to act as a spoiled pup and lash out at Paya's offering. what you view as a '_parasite_' is nothing of the sort. This is a challenge - a gauntlet, set forth to you by Paya. How blind you are."

Kwei had a hard time swallowing words of his own. His temper was flaring, but he wisely kept it in check. He could challenge Ghan'ye, but not the Elder. He wasn't stupid, or keen on losing his clan.

"I do not understand, Elder." He finally replied, working to keep his voice level.

The Elder straightened, looking down at him in disdain. "Of course you don't. You are young, brash, and foolish. . . Traits befitting of the Thwei's young. For far too long have the Thwei labored in the shadows. Complacency has made our clan dull and our muscles soft. . . and yet Paya saw fit to give us a chance to reclaim our elite title. She has shown us her favor.

". . . I pray, for your sake, that the Ooman is not yet dead. Go alone and retrieve her. Mend the honor you have sullied for attempting to murder Paya's gift, and then bring her to me. I wish to speak with this Ooman."

There was a lot of unsaid things lingering in the air between the Elder and Kwei. And Kwei was not at all happy with what they implied. The Elder - obviously delusional in his old age - was saying that this human was somehow a _gift _from their _goddess_. He had to resist the urge to snarl. From a lowly, pathetic rat to a holy offering? The very idea was laughable.

The Elder leaned forward, as if reminding him that he'd issued Kwei an order.

Wisely, the Newly-Blooded did not argue. Kwei exited as he entered, ensuring his movements were precise and respectful. But when the Elder's door closed behind him, he immediately began stomping, rage pouring off him in waves.

He returned to where the hunting party had been, finding the Yautja disbanded - he was alone. The doors to the lower levels of the ship opened for him.

His furious snarls echoed in the air as he walked down, entering the depths of the Unhonored and their slime.

* * *

Step.

Grit teeth.

_Breathe_.

Step.

Grit teeth. . .

The mantra repeated in her head, a million times over. It was the driving force, the only thing that kept her going.

Around her, fires raged, heat licking her skin - but she was cold, as always. The fires were eerie, a bright blue, and some of them didn't even look like flames. Still, the ghostly aliens tended them, stoking and calming where needed. Riley passed by another forge, resisting the urge to rub her arms. She highly doubted she'd be warm ever again - wait, what was she thinking?

Of course she never would. She wasn't even on Earth anymore. She was trapped in fucking space, with a whole bunch of goddamn homicidal space aliens who were trying to murder her.

More of them surrounded her down here, in the depths, but they were so different than the ones she'd encountered upstairs. For starters, these aliens were ghosts. They were emaciated, hollow - Riley would wager money they didn't even know she was here. A few of them had almost stepped on her, which had cemented Riley's firm belief that a lot of them didn't know she existed. The blue flames were their only life. . . either that, or they didn't care. Their skin was pale, their dreadlocks lackluster, their eyes empty.

One of them walked by her, almost brushing against her, and a hysterical giggle bubbled up from her throat.

They were just like her.

_Weak._

Cradling her right arm to her chest, Riley used the wall to brace herself. She was making slow progress. For every step she took, the pain slowed her down, and what distance she did manage was hindered by the filthy, sticky muck that coated the floor. Glancing down at her arm, she held it tenderly as possible. She was about ninety-nine percent certain she'd broken it during the fall. But it was hard to tell in the dim lighting. Every once in a while a jet of blue flame would make things bright enough for her to see by, but was it worth the effort to look? She could feel a sizable bump, and an excruciating pain radiated from the site, exacerbated with every step she took.

Step.

Grit teeth.

_Breathe_.

She was alone. Stranded. Her body was broken. How long could she keep going like this? Would she die here, alone, with the ghost aliens?

Riley took a step, and she bit out a sharp gasp when her ankle twisted in the filth, dumping her on the floor. She sucked in air, preventing a pained scream from tearing its way free of her throat.

Blinking tears out of her eyes, Riley used the wall and curled herself up into a ball as best as she was able, ignoring the slime on the ground as she tucked her knees close to her chest.

The pits of the alien ship were broken and hollow. . . exactly how she felt. Maybe it was poetic justice she die down there, in the dirt?

As if it were waiting for her to hit her weakest point, everything rose up and pounced on her all at once.

She gasped, feeling like her world was shattering and tearing at the seams. All of her memories, all of the emotions she'd kept bottled up for god knew how long - they all just poured right on in, overloading her brain. She could feel _everything_. The suffering, the pain, the nightmares, the shivers, the adrenaline crashes. . . she was not spared. Her head was still throbbing, pulsating with the worst migraine she ever experienced, and memories kept flashing before her eyes.

She'd killed people with her own hands. She'd taken _joy _in the fact that their blood had pulsed over her skin.

She wasn't even on _Earth _anymore.

Aliens were fucking _real_.

It was too much to take in. Her skin felt clammy, and any second, she was positive she was going to be sick. Her front was covered in blood from nosebleeds, and in the back of her mind, some cynical voice whispered: _that's withdrawal from the medications they gave you, dumbass_.

She was honestly surprised when she'd woken up alive, but her brain had taken that moment to turn on the faucet, eager to start the blood. It had dripped freely, and she wasn't certain how long it had gone on for, but it had stopped a little bit ago.

She was freezing, covered in blood, and what remained of the hospital gown was filthy, and ripped. Her hair was beyond matted - there was no brush or comb in the the world that could save it now. Riley started crying, uncaring of the desperate sobs that wrenched themselves from her. _I'm scared. I'm so, so scared. What am I supposed to do now? Daddy. . . Daddy, I miss you. I miss you so much. _

Daddy had always known what to do.

"_Thank you for serving Weyland-Yutani Corp, Dr. Landon-_"

A whine, and the memory was shoved to the back of her mind. She hated him.

She hated that goddamn alien for showing her how her father had died. He'd been shot like some animal, no regard given to him. She'd been forced to watch as his eyes had glazed over, how the blood had trickled down his skin. . .

Riley mewled, curling up into a tighter ball. She wished the ship would open up and swallow her whole.

She was so busy, so wrapped up in her own world of pity, that she barely noticed the hushed, silent reverence that had fallen over the filthy space. When she could clearly hear her own cries, she paused, wondering how it'd gotten so unnaturally quiet-

And her eyes landed on _him. _

For a moment, Riley was still. But then she realized what she was looking at. _Who _she was looking at. And having been noticed, he started to walk forward, like he'd been waiting for her to come out of her pity-party ball. Riley, ten thousand percent done with any more alien shit, did the most mature thing possible.

She squeaked, got to her hands and knees, and using her good arm, clambered to her feet, and started to run.

It was a laughable attempt, she even admitted it to herself, right then and there. Her muscles cramped with every step, and she was emotionally, physically, and mentally exhausted - and her medical status was sorely lacking. She felt like a field mouse running from a well-fed farm cat. Despite her messy attempt at running, she glanced behind her, wondering if death was imminent, and amost sobbed when she saw he wasn't even running. He was walking, as though he had all the time in the world.

That just rubbed salt into the wound, added so much more insult to injury. He wasn't even bothering to _run _after her. Riley continued for just a few more steps, until her legs, physically exhausted from running for her life and from soldiers, gave out on her. She collapsed into the muck, tasting filth and dirt in her mouth, her broken arm flaring violently in protest.

_I don't want to die like this. I don't wanna die here. Daddy, where are you, please save me. . . _

She didn't care that he could hear her thoughts, that he was probably laughing at how pitiful she looked. Riley used her good arm, gripping at the slime, trying to crawl away. She felt one of her nails break, bit back a whine as pain bloomed. She had to find someplace safe. Somewhere she could hide. She'd get on an escape pod or something and get back to Earth. Insane, half-cocked plans ran through her mind as she dragged herself over to a wall, and before she knew it, she slumped there, breathing heavily.

Tears were streaming down her face, and she looked up, seeing him standing there. She laughed, but it sounded hysterical and disbelieving. She was exhausted. No. . . no, Riley was beyond that point. There was no word to describe what she was feeling. As the seconds ticked by, he just stared down at her, tall and imposing. She likened him to a dark angel the night of their escape, and now he was standing before her, her own personal Reaper.

His mind was shut tight - she wasn't getting a single thing from him. Not that she was trying, but at this point she was floundering, treading water unsuccessfully as she drowned, trying to latch onto anything.

_Why haven't you done it yet? Why haven't you murdered me? Please. . . Please, just do it fast. _

Riley was tired of being so afraid.

He stepped closer, and Riley's throat closed up, knowing this was it, this was the end.

But instead of chambering back his arm to punch it through her skull, he knelt in front of her, getting closer and closer. Despite the fact that she was tucked up against the wall, he sat, his knees pressing into her legs. He was so close, Riley could feel the heat emanating from his body, could see the molten gold of his eyes.

She sat there, shaking, wondering what the fuck was going on. Was he going to reach forward and strangle her? Was he going to snap her neck? She emitted a squeak as he moved, but she was absolutely floored when she realized he was bowing his head and spreading his fingers apart.

"I am Kwei." He spoke. His voice was deep, rough, and accented, "Of clan Thwei. I come before you to apologize, and seek amends. My honor has been tainted, and I seek forgiveness from Paya's gift."

Her head was spinning. _Paya? A gift? _His words sounded so formal, so eloquent. Absently, she noted that his grasp on her language had improved vastly. When they'd first spoken, he'd only communicated in jagged, broken phrases. Regardless, Riley quivered. His words were venom coated in honey. She still couldn't feel his mind, either, but she could feel the tenseness in his muscles from where they touched, was practically drowning in the rage and hate boiling through him.

Lifting his head, Riley swallowed as she made eye contact with. . . Khei? Khet? . . . no, Kwei. That was what he'd called himself. Kwei.

Riley shrank back when he produced a small knife from a pouch on his belt, but instead of raising it to strike, he lifted it to his own head. He cut, sawing at one of the dreadlocks, his face flashing in pain. He made no sound, no indication that it had hurt him, but Riley could see it shimmering in his eyes.

After several precious moments, he severed it, and stashing the small knife, offered the dreadlock out to her.

"For seeking the blood of Paya, I offer part of myself in recompense."

Riley sat, still as a statue. Why the fuck had he cut off one of his dreadlocks? This wasn't making any sense, none in the least. But he sat there, blocking her in with his massive body, his hands holding one of his severed dreadlocks. He wasn't murdering her. He was offering her a piece of his head. Riley swallowed, and though she had no idea what possessed her to do it, she lifted a shaking hand and reached for the shiny appendage.

When she picked it up, she was surprised to note it was smooth. She'd assumed they were greasy, but that couldn't have been farther from the truth. One of the ornate metal clasps had come with the dreadlock he'd chosen, and before she could stop herself, she fingered the metal, relishing the cool touch on her feverish skin.

"The Elder has requested to see you, I will escort you to him."

He rose, and Riley breathed in a heavy sigh of relief. Being so close to him was making her shake.

"Stand." He said, eyes boring down at her.

Riley shook her head. "I c-can't w-walk-"

She gasped. One second, she was a pitiful ball on the ground, and the next, he'd scooped her into his arms. He carried her like she weighed nothing. Riley clutched the severed dreadlock in her hands biting her lip to keep from saying anything. He wasn't murdering her - he'd said something about an Elder? She was too weak to walk, and rather than arguing, he'd decided to just carry her.

Riley wasn't fooled. There was no magical change in his heart: she could feel his anger buzzing under his skin. His talons punctured her bare thighs, but she said nothing. He probably wanted to snap her neck a million times over, but he wasn't.

And opening her big fat mouth would probably be the quickest way to change the fact that she was still alive. She _was _too weak to walk, anyway. And her arm was most definitely broken. Riley looked anywhere but him, biting her lip so hard she bled, trying to endure this new form of embarrassment.

He said nothing.

* * *

She was too weak to walk, but she could stand.

And she was doing so now.

The hospital gown was torn beyond repair - she was practically naked. Though they were alone, Riley had her bad arm clasped across her chest, and other trying (and failing) to keep a bunch of fabric between her legs. She was shaking, and she knew she was shaking, but she wasn't about to stop it. There was no ease, no peace - at any moment, the odd little truce they'd called could come to an abrupt end. So Riley stood there, swallowing past a nervous knot in her throat.

"Did Kwei give you any of those injuries?"

Riley's head jerked up. He'd finally spoken. He'd turned and was looking at her, and for a moment, she marveled at how old his were. _An old soul. A very old soul. _

"N-No." She mumbled. "The vent d-did it."

She didn't know exactly how her new prison operated, but jailhouse rules stayed the same, and one of the best one she knew was _snitches get stitches_. While Kwei was responsible for several new rivulets of blood crawling down her legs, she wasn't about to say it.

"In our race, we prize such injuries, cherish the scars they bring. . . I can see you have fought many battles."

Riley glanced down at herself. Her skin was puckered and melted in places from where the black serpent's blood had burned her. And there were hundreds of scars from needles and IVs, dozens more from surgeries. . . and not to mention the metal sticking out of her head.

Battles, yes. Sure. If he wanted to call them that. Riley preferred to think of them as survival.

Kwei had brought her to this room, carried her back to the upper levels of the ship. He'd deposited her on her feet, and the other alien had said something - just a short word - and Kwei had left. She and the other alien were alone, had been for some time, and he'd said nothing. Just stood there and alternated between staring at her and staring out the window. She'd examined the room, had taken in its strangeness. It looked like a planning room of some kind - maps and charts written in languages she didn't know were scattered everywhere.

A large, beautiful bank of windows rested on the far side of the room, permitting her to see into the galaxy.

It also made her want to curl up in a ball again. The small part of her sanity was staring out, babbling on about how she was in space. On an alien spaceship. Surrounded by aliens. _Aliens_.

. . . Ha. Like anybody would believe it was real if she told them.

He stepped forward, and Riley jerked her eyes to him, wary of his approach. He was taller than the others, and more scarred and muscled. It looked like his entire body had been chiseled from granite. He wore a sparse amount of armor and what looked like fishnet. Tiny skulls adorned a belt that held his codpiece and loincloth in place, but he didn't wear much more than that. And so many _scars! _A few of them should have killed him, they were so severe. His skin was lighter than the others, even lighter in color than Kwei.

When he stood in front of her, Riley craned her neck back, suddenly feeling very small.

"I am Elder Bhu'ja, of clan Thwei. Tell me, Ooman. What is your name?"

(_"What is your name?_")

Riley shook her head mentally. This alien wasn't the Man Behind the Glass.

"Riley." She answered. "Riley Landon."

A hum, but it came out of him more like a growl/purr.

"Are you aware of what I am?"

_An alien that speaks flawless English? Sure. _

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

"To your kind, an alien. To my own, a Yautja. We are a race as old as the galaxies itself - much older than your kind. Our records are never clear, but we believe that we once had a hand in shaping humanity. . . your kind built pyramids in our honor."

Her mouth dropped open.

No way. . . no way. It. . . it made sense. The door, the language she couldn't decipher, the geological records indicating the rocks had never been moved, the _laser etching_. As if something went _click_, Riley felt the puzzle pieces slide into place. When she'd grabbed the spear, she'd been in a room dedicated to one of them. She'd seen his bust imprinted on the wall. Their skulls, their faces, their dreadlocks. . .

"Oh." She said, her brain rocking from the revelation. Really. She was encountering an ancient alien race and the most intelligent thing she could say was '_oh?_'

Humanity - zero.

Yautja - one.

"W-Why. . ." She coughed, trying to clear her voice of the shaking, "Why am I here?"

"You are a gift." He answered.

She tensed when a finger tucked itself under her chin and lifted her head up. He looked at her, as though searching for something, but Riley wasn't sure what. She remained still, unsure of his answer.

"But they want me dead. . ." She murmured.

"Pups," He replied, "Are often blinded by the thrill of the hunt. They refuse to see the grand tapestry our gods have woven. Paya has chosen you, and Kwei. I believe that you are what our clan has been lacking for so long. You will remain here, with us." He stepped back, eyes glancing down to the severed dreadlock she held in her back hand. "I am also pleased you have forgiven the foolhardy pup and restored his honor."

Riley felt like her world was cracking again. Surely that couldn't be it? Maybe he could be reasoned with? Pushing the honor-forgiveness thing aside, Riley tried to put her plan in action.

"Please," She said, "I just want to go home, back to Earth. I'm not your god's gift. . . I'm just a girl."

"This is your home. In time, Ooman, you will see. As the rest of our clan will. Paya has issued the Thwei a challenge, and I refuse to leave it unanswered. We must reconvene on our home world. Our Matriarch will be most intrigued by this recent turn of events. . ."

Riley said nothing. He stared at her, eyes unreadable.

If he noticed the silent tears crawling down her cheeks, he kept silent.

* * *

Sei-i == Yes.

Paya == Used in the sense of one god. Often implies a pantheon of goddesses. Being that the Yautja are a primarily Matriarchal culture (and this has been the source of much debate), it's heavily implied that most of their god-figures are _female_, rather than male. In my story, Paya will stand for one god, and that god will be a she. It seems to align with their culture a bit more.

Bhu'ja == Ghost / Soul / Spirit

Ki'cti-pa == The Yautja spear. Also known as a combi-stick.


	9. Family Dinner Night

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was trying to gain honor in his clan - but life had other plans. Now they must survive as a single unit. Throw in government experiments, Yautja culture. . . And what's this about Paya giving the clan a gift? Now he has to keep her from losing her sanity, and she has to try and not taint their honor. . . Easier said than done.

**Warnings: **Gore. Blood. Death. Cursing.

Will be pretty tame compared to what's to come, but just thought I'd be nice and warn ya.

**Author's Notes: **Hey everyone! Long time no see. Sorry about going *poof* but things always get a little hectic around the holidays, you know? Especially in a foreign country. As it turns out, when you go to Korea, the vacations (winter and summer) are about a month long for the students. And when you go on vacation for a while motivation just gets sapped out of you. Weird, huh? That's what I thought.

In any case, I'd like to let you know that I've revamped the story. Things should be much more fluid now. All chapters are entirely updated, revamped, and loaded to the site. Check them out! We've got some new scenes, I patched some plot holes, and characters should have some more depth now. I even updated the summary, too! So I'm a happy little camper.

I've retconned how Kwei looked, by the way. I was drawing Riley and Kwei and I decided I didn't like him dark-skinned. So we've got a desert-colored Yautja on our hands now.

Also, if you check out my dA page, I've posted a reference pic of Riley in her days in the Room. Go check it out if you want a visual aid for what I've been describing in words!

I'd also like to say that right now I'm taking a lot of liberties with Yautja culture. Namely because I haven't read the comics or the books. But if it's one thing I like, it's being able to create weird stuff in the name of science!

Also special shoutout to everyone who reviewed, thank you so much. And big shoutout to Crayola - she's been giving me some feedback and we have some very interesting conversations about the Yautja in our spare time, haha.

Also, I'd like to note that expect chapters to vary in length. Some of them might be longer now, some might be a tish shorter. I'm experimenting with things! But here, have a longer chapter to make up for my absence!

* * *

"'Adapt and overcome' is my new motto."  
-Jack Osbourne

* * *

_In space, nobody can hear you cry. _

Granted, she wasn't outright sobbing, so that was a good thing. Riley didn't think she even _had _the energy to sob anymore. She didn't have the fortitude for _anything_. After what had felt like years, she had finally reached the end of her rope. The Elder stood before her, firm and impassive, and Riley stood too, still trying to keep herself covered in what little scraps of fabric she had.

The past few days were starting to drag her down, and through her tears, her eyes threatened to close on her. She was two seconds away from passing out.

The Elder just stared her down, looking impassive and stoic as ever, but Riley knew it was plainly obvious that she was fading.

And at that point, she didn't even think she cared.

She was too numb to take in anymore revelations, too shocked and burnt out to even _care_. He could have told her that the sky was blue because they'd sprayed the blood of Leviathan itself into the sky or some ridiculous shit like that, and she wouldn't have been amazed. No, Riley just wanted to sleep.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, before Elder Bhu'ja nodded his head.

"I have decided who I will trust your recovery to. I know Ooman bodies to be frail, and take longer to mend than our own, even without medical supplies available. . ."

He was still speaking, saying other things, and Riley tried to pay attention - she really did. But her fatigue was escalating, beating out everything else, and her brain was finally checking out. It was one hundred percent, officially _done_. Before she knew it, her eyes were sliding shut, and without a care, her body was pitching to the ground.

Riley didn't feel it when she hit the floor. She didn't know if anybody caught her or not, for that matter.

Instead, she welcomed the black She was even grateful when it was dreamless - she didn't know if she could deal with the watery, shifting currents anymore. All Riley knew was that she was finally in the embrace of sleep, and god, it was such a beautiful thing.

She slept.

And slept.

And _slept_.

A soft touch was what finally roused her from the arms of Mistress Sleep. Riley wanted to shun it, turn back to the arms of her new lover, but the touch was insistent. . . and gentle. It wasn't quite the fact that somebody was touching her that made Riley wake up. It was more because the touch was so _placid_. The White Coats may have stroked her skin, but it was never to be kind. It was to get reactions from her veins, or to see if she would stir, or some other weird medical shit.

But this was up by her head, stroking her hair back from her scalp. A few sharp nails dragged along her head, careful not to puncture her skin, and she noted that they were not the blunt, dull edges of a human's fingernails. They were sharp talons. Breathing in deeply, Riley inhaled a unique smell that was most definitely not human. It was enough to intrigue her to open her eyes just a crack. She was greeted with blurry shapes of black and red. . . and the rest she couldn't make out.

Ah.

So it hadn't all been a vivid dream. She really _was _in space. . . on an alien spaceship. . .

And apparently she was now some magical-girl offering from their magical-girl-bestowing god.

Uttering a small sigh, Riley frowned at her new fate - and then paused when the hand touching her hair stopped. She froze, knowing that one of those aliens was in the room with her now. . . shifting behind her. . . touching her _hair. _Swallowing, Riley tried to close her eyes and prepare for the end (the aliens and Riley didn't really have a good track record), but for once in her short life, her eyes actually refused to close. She heard more rustling, felt a weight shifting behind her, and then quiet footsteps circling around from her back towards her front. . .

She moved, preparing to bolt, and surprise stopped her when she realized she couldn't move. She wasn't pinned down, she just. . . there was something covering her. Like she was under a blanket of some kind. And her head was also supported by something equally as soft. . . was she on a _bed? _

Hell, she couldn't even remember what a bed felt like. . .

A quiet clicking noise got her attention, dragging her from her stupid, and she tilted her neck back, looking up. In front of her was another one of the aliens, but this one was. . . it was different. For starters, his face wasn't as wide, his head slightly smaller, and. . . oh.

_He _was a _she_. She was thinner than her male counterparts, but still sported enough muscles to make an Olympic athlete cry. Her waist - rather like a human's - was much more defined, tapering in and flaring out to form a curvy outline. She wore what the others had worn: fishnets, a loincloth, a kind of bustier-like top, and a very scant amount of armor.

Another click, and Riley dragged her eyes up to the al. . . Yautja. They were called Yautja.

Reaching forward, she lifted a hand to Riley's head, and the girl couldn't help but flinch. The past few days had not been kind to her. The Yautja woman was not deterred, however, and ran her talons along her scalp again, brushing her fingers through her hair. Riley laid there, feeling utterly baffled. Was this alien _petting her head? _

Another click, this time more pronounced. Yautja Woman seated herself, bent down, and made a show of grabbing one of her dreadlocks, slowly running her hand down the length of it. And then she returned to running her fingers through Riley's hair. Riley laid there, wondering how she should feel about it, and then decided not to think about it so much and simply classify it as one of those, 'the alien is curious about our differences' kind of things. For a little while longer, Riley laid there, and Yautja Woman was happy to stroke her hair, appearing utterly fascinated by it.

And Riley let her, because hey, it was a fuckton better than being brutally murdered.

Eventually though, the woman moved, standing, and grabbed the edge of the sheet Riley was under. She pulled it back, and Riley shivered at the loss of warmth. In a kneejerk reaction, she looked down, and found another surprise: the hospital gown had been removed. She was wearing something that looked roughly similar, and equally as thin, but it was much bigger on her - probably their version of a hospital gown? Though judging by what Yautja Woman was wearing, though, Riley didn't understand why they bothered wearing clothing. Modesty was obviously a trait not present in their kind.

Yautja Woman made a gesture with her hand.

"What do you. . ."

She repeated the gesture, cutting off Riley's words with a clicking noise that she guessed meant impatient.

Riley frowned. She wasn't sure of the relationship that she and Yautja Woman shared, but she was the most benevolent thing she'd run into so far, so. . .

"Can you speak?" Riley asked, not yet moving.

Yautja Woman paused, black eyes surveying her.

Silence reigned.

After a moment, the eyes narrowed, and Yautja Woman repeated her gesture.

Her impatience was showing in her tone and body language, and Riley didn't want to piss her off. She didn't want to get out of bed, either (she really just wanted to roll over and sleep for an entire month), but curiosity for what was coming next was beginning to win over her want of more sleep. Why was this Yautja being nice to her? Did it have something to do with her new Magical Girl status? Rolling closer to the edge of the bed, Riley swung her legs over and hit the warm floor. As she pushed herself to stand, she hissed, damn near falling over as aches and pains shot out across her body. God, it was like the time she'd decided to go skiing for the first time in her life. Nobody told her just how _sore _falling fifteen times would make you feel the next day.

She felt like that. . . and then somebody had decided to run her over with a dump truck for funsies.

Yautja Woman reached out and grabbed her right arm - and Riley flinched back on instinct, readying for the pain to amplify tenfold. . . but she stopped when Yautja Woman's hand wrapped solidly around a sleek, black case of metal that was attached to her arm. It was flexible, too - she could bend her arm freely, and did so, watching in amazement as she felt. . . nothing. There was no pain. Staring down at it, Riley gawked. A piece of alien technology had been applied to her arm. She could only guess as to its purpose, but since it was strapped to her broken arm. . .

"Cast?" She asked, gesturing to the casing, "Is this a cast?"

Yautja Woman did not answer, and instead began to pull her along, guiding her by the elbow across the room and to a closed doorway. As they entered, lights flickered on, and Riley looked at it. It was a bathroom - pretty obvious, judging from what looked like their version of a toilet, and a shower that was sporting jets in the ceiling and the walls. Riley almost drooled at the possibility of hot water. A nice, blisteringly hot shower under her own free will? Holy shit, maybe she'd died and gone to heaven. Hell, she didn't even care if the water was warm. Cold water would work just as well.

Yautja Woman gave a strangely birdlike trill, and Riley didn't even have time to splutter out a protest before she'd grabbed at the flimsy cloth covering and yanked at one of its ties, causing it to come loose and fall off of her. It pooled on the floor at the same time Riley yelped and, her face flushing in embarrassment, was quick to jump and use her arms to cover up her body. the Yautja didn't even seem to care, as she took Riley by the shoulders and put her in the middle of the shower area before tapping at a control panel that was set into the wall.

"I can shower by myself." Riley said, still covering her body, "Seriously. This cast-thingy lets me move my arm. I think I'm going to be okay."

Water (or what she guessed to be water, it felt different) started coming out of the spigots, and Riley was awestruck to discover that yes, it was warm, and _heavenly. _She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting about the Yautja in the bathroom with her, and just enjoyed the feeling of water pressure on her skin. Bathing had been another human dignity stripped from her at the hands of the White Coats. She was normally drugged for the duration of '_sponge bath time_', and sometimes, for whatever godawful reason, they deemed it necessary for her to just be tied up and sprayed with a hose filled with strange-smelling water laced with chemicals.

But this?

This was _ecstasy. _

Riley was so wrapped up in her own little haven that she had completely forgotten about the alien standing just a few feet away from her.

That was, until, said Yautja grabbed her arm, prying it free from her chest, and began lathering her up with some kind of gel-liquid. Riley opened her eyes, her embarrassment rising, and she futilely tried to wrest her arm back.

"I can wash myself." She protested. "Seriously. It's fine. I'm just sore."

Yautja Woman clicked. "M-di.**" And she went about her business.

Riley took that to mean no, and stood there, considering her options.

Human men had been scrubbing her body clean for the better part of however long she'd been in the Room.

Yautja Woman was scrubbing her down in the privacy of a hot shower.

She sighed and gave in - there was no use fighting it. Yautja Woman outweighed her by a decent two hundreds pounds, and Riley wasn't about to piss her off and have the alien give up her calm demeanor. So she stood there, hot water sluicing down her skin, the woman massaging her arm - and Riley found it was actually kind of nice. And hey, she was a _girl _alien too, so it wasn't like she didn't have all of the parts downstairs. . . she hoped.

So Riley relaxed, the hot water and the attention to detail finally managing to make her drop her guard. And Yautja Woman really knew how to get the kinks out of muscles, because by the time she was finished with her left arm, Riley didn't think it had ever felt so good. Her skin was tinged pink from where the Yautja had really scrubbed, but she didn't mind. It was better than dirt and twigs and alien ship muck, anyway. The Yautja repeated the process for her other arm, her chest, her back, and legs. And despite her earlier thoughts, Riley was glad that she didn't have to fight for the right to wash her downstairs bits.

The rest of her body? Sure.

But not there.

Finally, however, the woman poured some kind of purple goop onto her hands, lathered it up, and attacked her scalp. She grabbed Riley's head and had her tilt it to the left, so as to give her better access to her lanky brown hair. And her talons worked _wonders _on her scalp. She really worked the soap in, working it into such a frenzy that Riley had to close her eyes to keep the soap from falling in them.

Riley didn't care.

Yautja Woman took just as long rinsing out the soap, and when she was done, Riley was almost tempted to ask her to do it all over again. The sores over her body weren't gone, but they felt a hell of a lot better, and god, she'd never felt so _clean_.

Pressing another button on the panel, Riley gave a little jump when she was attacked by what felt like a mini-hurricane and a blast of heat. It only lasted a few (terrifying) seconds before it calmed, much to Riley's relief. The purpose for it was to dry her off, apparently, as her hair hung over her shoulder in a damp curtain, and most of the moisture had been wicked from her skin. Yautja Woman stepped back, opening up a flap in the wall, and Riley reached for the alien-style hospital gown on the floor, intent on covering herself up, but she was quickly thwarted by her new acquaintance.

She thrust a bundle of gray-colored clothing into her hands, snatching up the hospital gown before Riley could lay her hands on it. Riley stared down at the bundle of fabric in her hands. It vaguely reminded her of spandex, but it was far more lightweight - she marveled that it felt like she was holding feathers. Alright, it looked like they were giving her new duds. Fine, she could manage with that. After sorting through the clothes to find the bottoms, Riley yanked them on, and was dismayed to note that they were hardly more than short shorts. _Spandex _short shorts.

Praying the top would be different, Riley started to put it on, hoping she was doing it correctly. Yautja Woman didn't stop her, so she took that as a sign she was. Yanking it down, Riley made some final adjustments, looked down at her front. . . and then blanched.

"It's uhm. Broken." She said, gesturing to the top.

Yautja Woman clicked at her, looking at the garment, and then shook her head. "M-di."

"B-But. . ." Riley's face went red, and she knew her earlier assumptions were proven correct. After taking a second look at what the Yautja in front f her was wearing (and mentally cycling through what she'd seen others wear), she could only surmise that the Yautja just didn't give a flying fuck about modesty.

Riley looked away sharply, trying not to overthink it. It felt like everything down from her nipples were on display, showcasing quite a lot of the bottom of her breast. . . it showed about the same as what Yautja Woman's showed, but after being a science experiment for so long, Riley really, _really _wanted some privacy.

Yautja Woman grabbed her hand, tugging her from the bathroom, forcibly sat Riley down in a chair, stood behind her, and began to work what felt like a brush through her hair. Riley didn't know why she suddenly had somebody tending to her, but she guessed it had something to do with her Magical Girl status. She couldn't do anything other than bear the odd treatment, so she took to looking around the room.

It was very plain, colored mostly black, but several banners had been hung on the wall, blood red in color, bearing a crest of some kind. The bed that she'd been laying on was incredibly spacious (but given that her only real comparison was the bed from the Room, and that hardly seemed fair), and covered with a sheet of some kind that, on closer inspection, looked like a fur. It wasn't a very large room, but compared to _the _Room, it was plenty large enough.

Yautja Woman finished quickly, and Riley continued to sit there, unsure of what would happen next - and out of nowhere, the alien produced a tray of food. Riley stared at the assortment of. . . of things. She didn't know the names of any of the food items, but judging by their shape and sizes, she had to guess they were fruits and vegetables. The longer Riley stared, the more her uneasiness began to grow.

Normally, tribes offered sacrifices to gods in hopes of obtaining wealth, a good harvest, more fertile women. . . any reason, really. They only offered the best of the best, and saw that their sacrifices (be they animal, food, or human) were well-fed, meticulously cleaned. . .

And she'd _just _so happened to have gained Magical Girl status from their god.

"Uhm. I'm not hungry." She answered, fearing the food to be drugged.

Those black eyes narrowed at her, and Yautja Woman pointed to the tray. The message was clear: eat.

Riley shook her head, pointing to her stomach. "It's upset," She lied, "I'll thro-urk."

Yautja Woman, showing absolutely no patience for her, swept down with a speed Riley hadn't thought possible, wrapping her in a tight headlock. Fearing the worst, Riley struggled, but she may as well have been a feeble kitten batting at a lion. Apparently the Yautja hadn't bought into her lie.

The alien picked up a piece of food - it was circular and bumpy, black in color, and looked like five grapes smooshed together - and even with Riley clamping her mouth shut, the Yautja somehow managed to pry open her jaw, pop it inside, and waited.

Riley panicked, wondering what the fuck she should do. And whether it was because the berry popped due to her struggles, or it'd been bruised by the alien's handling, she didn't know. But it burst on her tongue, tasting like. . . like. . . a _strawberry_. Close enough to a strawberry, but the flavors were different. For one, it was almost spicy. Yautja Woman made a show of reaching, grabbing another berry, and methodically pressing it to her lips.

That message was clear too.

_Eat_, she was saying, _or I will _make _you._

So Riley did, and with every berry she chewed and swallowed, the chokehold around her neck began to loosen, little by little, until finally Yautja Woman pulled back from her completely. The alien seated herself in a chair beside her, looking critically at Riley when she stopped eating, but wisely (after a meaningful glance down to the food), she decided to continue.

_. . . god, when was the last time I fed myself? _

Sure, hunger had been an issue in the Room. But she never actually remembered _eating_. Had there been a feeding tube? Had they just injected nutrients into her body? She didn't remember. . . didn't care. If she _was _supposed to be a sacrifice to their god, what difference did it make? She was going to die either way. . . right?

"Pup." A voice said, startling the shit out of Riley.

She jerked her head to Yautja Woman, and saw her staring intently back, her black eyes brimming with emotions Riley couldn't even begin to decipher.

"I will say this once, and only once in your mother tongue. If you ever wish to speak with me again, it will be in mine. Is this understood?"

Dumbstruck, Riley nodded her head. Apparently Yautja Woman could speak English, too.

Yautja Woman continued. "I am overseeing your care while you recover. Do not attempt to sabotage it - I have been told you have self-destructive tendencies. I sense that there is much fear and weakness in you, and if you wish to survive another day, you will learn to leave this fear behind."

She paused, and Riley realized she was waiting for a sign of acknowledgement. So Riley nodded.

"Good. Our Elder sees fit to declare you a gift from Paya, and even I must concede that the coincidence is too great to be ignored. But know this: this title is hollow and empty. The Yautja are not a people of words. We are a race of action. Cower, and you will bring dishonor to this clan. Prosper, and you will bring glory."

Hadn't. . . hadn't Kwei been thinking something along those lines during the time they'd been imprisoned together? It had always consumed his thoughts, evoked such pain. . . something about dishonor, his clan, and the consequences of it all.

"What. . . what happens if I bring dishonor to the clan?" Riley asked, unsure of how to address this Yautja, or if she should even speak to her.

"You will be executed. Now eat. Sleep. We will begin overseeing your assimilation tomorrow."

Yautja Woman got up, leaving Riley alone with the tray of food. Riley watched as she left the room, the door sliding shut behind her, and she knew it was probably locked. She sat there, numbly eating a little more - just because she _could _\- and when she was well and truly alone, she padded back over to the bed, flopped onto it, and stared at the wall.

_Yeah, no pressure here. Just succeed in our mysterious alien ways or die. Yup. Oh, god, what did I get myself into. . . _

Pulling the covers over her head, Riley blocked out the light in the room (which, in additional mysterious alien fashion, dimmed), and though thousands of emotions were pulsing in her, Riley started to succumb to the temptations of Mistress Sleep a second time. The bed was soft, it cushioned her in all the right places, too. . .

And before she knew it, she closed her eyes and drifted off a second time.

* * *

The next few days passed her in a blur.

. . . and Riley was pleased to note that things actually seemed to be. . . _improving_.

It was weird as fuck to think about, but the routine had helped tremendously. She would sleep, Yautja Woman would come and wake her up, put her through the alien version of physical therapy, feed her breakfast, oversee showering, give her books to study, feed her again, and then it was bedtime. Which sounded amazingly simple on paper, but it was actually difficult. The rigorous nature of it kept her mind occupied.

_And_, as her mind mused darkly,_ less likely to indulge in 'self destructive' tendencies._

Though Riley really didn't mind. Her brain felt like one shattered, disgusting mess, and the more it was kept busy, the less she had to indulge its ridiculous insane babbling. She would probably need a lifetime of talking to a therapist in order to be sane again. . . but to be entirely honest, Riley didn't think it would help.

_. . . now that I think about it, isn't this technically therapy? _

Eh. Close enough.

Absently, Riley was pouring over the books that Yautja Woman had given her. The first part of her _assimilation _was apparently, learning how to speak their tongue. And true to the Yautja's word, she refused to speak to Riley in English. Which was fine by Riley. Because in the past, way back when, cultural immersion had helped her learn languages.

God, that was an eternity ago. She knew she used to be freakishly good at learning languages, but her progress in learning theirs was. . . slow. And frustrating.

What she _had _gleaned (or more assumptions, really) was that it was roughly similar to Korean and Chinese in nature. But it was like both of those languages had had a baby, jumped into a blender together, and then hid the cipher to crack the code.

But given that it had only been a few days, Riley gave herself just a little bit of slack. And it was an _alien language_, for christ's sake. Yautja Woman was patient when Riley had questions, and corrected her on pronunciation of things. Though, Riley had a sneaking suspicion that she was moving along quickly at learning the alphabet simply because Kwei had been in her head and had refused to speak anything else for the longest time.

Riley sat back, blowing a breathy gust of air.

Thinking about that made her curious. How had Kwei known English? Had she somehow taught him when they spoke to one another? Likewise, there were times when Yautja - Kwei included - would speak and she'd just _know _what the word meant. Riley shook her head, and then rubbed at her temples.

Her arms ached, but it was a pleasant soreness. Yautja therapy was basically a workout, which Riley was happy to do. She was tired of looking like a walking skeleton. And with Yautja Woman acting as a very stern governess of sorts, Riley didn't think that she'd be a walking skeleton for much longer. Between the workouts and making sure Riley ate enough, she was sure it would only be a matter of time before she was. . . well. . .

The door opened, and Riley turned to it, glad to have an interruption to her thoughts. She didn't want to finish that sentence.

Yautja Woman stood there, gesturing for her to come.

Riley stood, following her out to the main antechamber. She actually shared living quarters with Yautja Woman, though Riley could count on one hand how many times she'd been in the alien's main bedroom. The antechamber was an entertaining section of some kind, she guessed, to meet and receive guests.

And there was one present now.

Doctor Alien.

Riley sighed, resigning herself to her fate, and doing her best to avoid her skin crawling, she sat down next to him.

The first time Yautja Woman had permitted Doctor Alien to the antechamber, Riley had taken one look at him, at the case he carried, and promptly made a dash for her room. Yautja Woman was faster, and had pinned her down, covering Riley with her weight. And Riley had been scared shitless as the two Yautja had spoken with one another. She thought that she had been about to die, that he was there to kill her. . . but no. Doctor Alien was there to check up on her cast.

Riley still wasn't versed in communicating in their language, so she didn't even know his name. Doctor Alien would have to work for now.

He clicked at her, and Riley offered up her casted arm. He'd been a constant in her routine, too. Every day he came and checked up on her arm, pressing buttons on the cast (imagine Riley's surprise when she found it was a piece of machinery, too), gave her a quick once-over, and then dismissed himself.

She was so used to it she tuned out whatever he was saying to Yautja Woman as she sat there. Though she was careful to keep an eye on him. She couldn't help her wariness. The first time they'd met, he'd been trying to kill her, so. . .

There was a beep, and the cast cracked open. Riley looked down at her arm, but found the skin had no bumps or bruises, no horribly mutilated bone poking out of her skin. Doctor Alien grabbed her arm and bent it, twisting it this way and that, and Riley was additionally shocked to feel no pain.

"It is healed." Doctor Alien said, "The bone is set and mended."

And that was it. He took the cast, placing it into his case, and rose to his feet, speaking to Yautja Woman. Riley watched the exchange, rubbing at her arm, amazed. It had only been a few days and it was already healed? Wow. Alien technology wasn't anything to sniff at. Doctor Alien finished his conversation, and without even a parting glance, turned and left the antechamber.

Yautja Woman gestured for her to follow, and Riley obeyed.

There was no point in telling her no - she'd tried, once, saying she was perfectly capable of washing herself, but the Yautja had just picked her up, bodily thrown her over her shoulder, and marched her ass into the shower anyway.

_I'm pretty sure she's acting suicide watch. . . _Which would explain a lot, actually.

As Riley followed Yautja Woman out of the antechamber, she nervously tugged at her outfit. It was so light, it hardly felt like she was wearing anything at all. But there weren't any passing aliens to stare at her, and she was grateful for that. A strange mist pooled on the floor, giving Riley little reprieve from the heat. The Yautja really liked their homes to be warm.

Riley walked behind her, trying to think, wanting to ask a hundred questions to the alien. She wracked her brain, trying to recall what she'd been reading. Finally, gaining enough courage, she opened her mouth. Yautja Woman looked down at her curiously as Riley tried to speak, but the words came out jumbled and she was certain they were incomprehensible.

Finally, after a few false starts, she said, "Where?"

It felt weird as fuck to say (she _was _missing several essential parts to correctly say their words), but Yautja Woman's eyes gleamed with approval. She stopped them at a door, laid her hand on a panel, and replied with one word.

Riley stared at her, scrunching up her face and trying to sort through the small handful of words she'd memorized, but this wasn't one of them.

Yautja Woman pressed the panel, the door slid back. . .

. . . and Riley froze.

_Oh. _

She could probably guess what that word meant now.

_Dinner_.

* * *

Riley stood, still as a statue, as she stared at the room in front of her. The atmosphere was certainly lively, there was no denying that, but it was filled to the _brim _with Yautja. She counted a solid thirty of them at the very minimum, all seated around long tables, busily chattering with one another. Remembering that she was wearing an incredibly revealing outfit, Riley bundled her hands together in front of her chest, doing her best to hide herself, her cheeks heating.

She was practically naked in front of a giant audience of aliens.

Yautja Woman, giving no notice to her discomfort, started forward, giving her a quick wave to follow. Riley hastened to obey, her cheeks practically feeling on fire. She was certain that all of the aliens present were staring at her, their eyes boring into her as she walked by, but she refused to lift her eyes (which were glued to the floor) to find out. She didn't want to know if they were looking at her, or if they were talking about her. . . but she was absolutely certain they were.

It wasn't conceit talking there, she reasoned, but rather it would be _out _of place if they were talking about hot gossip like a human being among them. She knew if she was an alien, the abduction would be all the rage. Yautja Woman moved to an empty spot at one of the tables, and Riley sat next to her, her heart pounding and her stomach knotting.

She couldn't help it - the last time she'd been surrounded by a bunch of Yautja, they'd tried to kill her. Thankfully, none of them appeared to be interested in doing so now, but still. . .

_Can I just ask if I can hide back in the bedroom? _At least she knew what to do there: wake up, work out, study, and sleep. Not. . . not _this_.

Gathering the scraps of her courage, Riley finally lifted her head, painful inch by painful inch, and began to inspect the contents of the table. It was laden with dishes that were stacked neatly with what appeared to be meats, more fruits. . . and if she wasn't mistaken, maybe vegetables? It was hard to tell - she'd have to ask Yautja Woman if they had a picture dictionary of some kind containing the names of their foods. And maybe where they'd originated from, because she'd never seen anything that bulbous-looking with purple specks scattered across its bloated surface. . .

She saw shortened black talons click on the tabletop, and unable to help herself, Riley lifted her eyes. . .

And found Kwei glaring back at her.

For a moment, she sat, frozen again, and it didn't take a mind reader to know that he was still seething with fury. His eyes were narrowed on her, his expression set into what Riley thought was a permanent growl. One of his friends noticed, and he spoke to Kwei, his voice pitched in what Riley guessed was a question. Kwei replied, glaring at her more intently, his voice dripping with acid. Riley shrunk back, wanting to hide underneath the table, but she knew Yautja Woman would probably yank her ass back up if she tried.

Some unknown signal was given, and almost in sync, most of the Yautja began to grab at the food, depositing it on smaller plates in front of them.

Riley watched, all of her muscles tensed. She hardly had an appetite, but Yautja Woman was glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, and Riley knew she'd get her ass reamed if she didn't try to eat something in front of her. . . and an audience. Biting the inside of her cheek, Riley discreetly glanced around, but found no utensils. From what a very quick recon could provide, she noticed that none of the Yautja ate with any kind of fork or knives or spoons. Instead, they used what looked like bread. They'd tear off a chunk of it, wrap it around what they wanted to eat, and pop it into their mouth.

_Alright. . . so. Here we go. _

Riley lifted a shaking hand, and swearing that the entire hall was watching her, she grabbed a small, purple-ish colored piece of bread and brought it back to her plate. She exhaled a tiny sigh of relief when he managed it without any incident. She didn't want to fuck this up, and she wanted to escape the experience alive, so she followed a set of rules that she deemed fair enough and conjured on the spot.

Rule one, for instance, was to ignore the choicest, biggest pieces of food. If this was a tribal society, she guessed that those who succeeded and were deemed the 'best' got those pieces of food. So she stuck to the smallest, 'worst' pieces of food, like the crust of bread she'd snagged. Honestly, it didn't even bother her. Just being in the mess hall was enough to kill her appetite, but still, she had to try.

Rule two was to watch how certain foods were eaten. She did not want to make a giant fool of herself, and not watching was the easiest way to go about it. Some of the fruits were meant to be cracked open, but Riley avoided those. She instead opted for a tiny piece of meat. It was warm on her fingers, indicating that it had been cooked very recently, and it was surprisingly dry to the touch. Mimicking what she'd seen, Riley tore off a piece of bread, wrapped the meat inside, and popped it in her mouth.

It was actually surprisingly flavorful. The purple bread was mellow, but contained a hint of spice, which helped offset the sweet taste of the meat. Both pieces of food practically melted in her mouth, too, prompting little chewing on her part. . . which made sense, actually, given that the Yautja didn't have teeth like she did.

Feeling a little more courageous, Riley repeated the action, sticking to her simple rules, but noticed something else: the talk at her table had gotten slightly more animated. She chanced another glance up at Kwei, and found him making a gesture at her, but he was speaking with the Yautja around him. He was talking far too quickly for Riley to even hope to try and decipher a word or two, and his head was so fortified she didn't think she could gain access if she tried.

But he feigned something close to a cower, and his friends laughed, turning to stare at her. It was interesting to listen to Yautja laughs, too, because it sounded like a jungle cat purring and growling and barking all at the same time.

Kwei looked at her, then, too, his expression set between a cross of a sneer and smugness, but then he turned back to his friends.

It didn't take a genius to know that he was making fun of her.

She did her best to ignore it. She really did.

She focused on eating instead, just to please the watchdog of a caretaker she had sitting next to her. But the longer the ribbing went on, the more daring it got. Next thing she knew, they were snickering any time she popped food in her mouth, and one of Kwei's comrades made it a point to sit up straight and tall, acting prim and proper as he mocked her. Kwei and the rest of his group found that hilarious, a few of them gasping for breath as they laughed.

Riley felt her cheeks burning, but they continued, beginning to outright point and do more and more of the same shit. _God, how juvenile can you get_, Riley sniped, pointedly looking away from Kwei. She was doing just fine on her own, she hadn't pissed any of them off with her dining etiquette, but apparently Kwei and his friends found it appropriate to make fun of her. None of the other Yautja at the table made any move to stop them, either, and were simply conversing with one another.

She reached for another piece of bread crust when a hand intercepted her own, and her heart jumped up into her throat. Had she finally angered one of them - had she eaten too much? Had she reached across the table for something. . . the clawed hands belonged to one of Kwei's group, and he rotated it over, pointing at the scars over her wrists and arms.

Riley jerked her arm back and stood. She wasn't going to made fun of - not for that.

They didn't know the shit she'd been through, what she'd nearly gone insane over. She started to move, extracting herself from the table, but Yautja Woman grabbed her arm and firmly yanked her ass back down to her seat. Riley looked at her, fearing that she was somehow in on this make-fun-of-the-human bit, but her caretaker simply shook her head.

"Dinner is not over." She said, and turned back to her food.

Riley sat there, feeling betrayed, stung, and hurt. Apparently it was perfectly fine for Kwei and his group to make fun of her, mock her, and outright manhandle her. . . and she wasn't even going to do anything about it?

Against her will, tears stung her eyes. She was positive that Kwei and his group were snickering. She even felt the bastard brush up against her mind, but Riley mimicked him and slammed her mental defenses up, not wanting to give him his fucking satisfaction.

She refused to let the tears fall, either, and sat with her hands in her lap. She wasn't going to give in.

Her appetite was gone, but she couldn't eat more of the rich meats if she tried. . . not that she wanted to.

She sat there, enduring their taunts and their laughs.

Riley forced her breaths to remain even and steady.

She'd survived the Room. . . she could survive this.

* * *

Dinner ended shortly after that, much to her relief. Riley was quick to get up to her feet and retrace her steps to the entrance, slipping out after a few other Yautja. She didn't want to embarrass herself anymore than she already had unknowingly, and she didn't know how to operate one of their control panels, either. Instead she walked stiffly down the hallway, though she felt like running. She knew if she did, Kwei and his cronies would probably roar in laughter.

That asshole didn't deserve any more ammunition.

Anger simmered inside of her as she stalked back towards Yautja Woman's quarters, and her hands fisted at her sides. God, what a fucking asshole. She helped him get back to his clan, and instead of being even a _teensy _bit grateful, he decided he was going to make fun of her at dinner? Not only that, but he'd gotten his friends in on it, too.

_Fuck you too, _she snarled.

She arrived at the door and was glad when it opened without any fiddling with the panel. She stalked into the main antechamber and sat down, scrubbing at her face and dashing away tears in her eyes. Apparently men were assholes no matter what species they were. The door opened again, and Riley turned, finding Yautja Woman standing there. The alien gave her a once-over, but she didn't say anything.

"That's acceptable table manners?" Riley bit out in her native tongue.

She knew that Yautja Woman said she'd never speak to her in English again, but Riley didn't know enough of their language to convey her anger.

"They were being _assholes_," Riley continued, pacing back and forth, running her fingers through her hair, "I have no fucking clue what they were saying, but I can take a guess. And they _mocked _me. Why didn't you stop them? Why didn't you help me?" Riley demanded, pausing in her frantic steps to look at the alien.

Yautja Woman stared back at her calmly, and to her surprise, answered in English. "If you are so easily wounded by the actions and words of others, I'm afraid there is nothing I can do for you. One must prove one's self in our society. You have not."

Riley stiffened, feeling her anger quickly developing into something more. She want to be told, '_have a thicker skin, kid_,' she wanted to be told, '_yeah, he was being a fucking jerk, he'll be punished for it later_.' And not only that, but Yautja Woman was telling her that she hadn't accomplished _shit_?

"I haven't done _anything? _What about the serpent I killed?! I _survived_-"

"So have they." Yautja Woman interrupted, cutting off her tirade coolly, "Surviving easy, pup. Anyone can survive, but it takes will to seize glory and live. To other Yautja, you are nothing. Nothing but another human."

The words stung Riley so much that she stood there, her mouth closing and her balloon of anger popping. She felt defeated and deflated all over again. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do - stand there and stare or cry. Painful as it was to admit, though, Yautja Woman's words had a certain amount of truth to them. What _had _she done to earn a spot in their society? How many of those aliens in the dining hall had killed one of those black monsters?

. . . or even _bigger _things than the black monsters?

Yautja Woman shifted, and Riley watched as emotions flickered behind her eyes. "But," She continued, her voice softer, "Other humans have gained station in Yautja society - in other clans. Never before has it occurred in the Thwei. For all you have learned thus far, you will know what will cement your place here, and whether you want it or not. The choice is yours, pup."

And she walked away, deeming the conversation over. Riley watched as her caretaker moved into her bedroom, leaving Riley alone in the antechamber. Mechanically, Riley turned and walked into her bedroom, glad when the door shut behind her. She glanced around at the open book on the small table, and then at the sparsely-furnished bedroom.

She was alone, stranded in space, no family or friends to take care of her or support her.

She was being subjected to the strange ways of an alien culture that was entirely foreign to the human race.

She had been given a title she didn't fully understand.

She'd been experimented on by her own government, turning her into a strange experiment she didn't fully understand.

But Yautja Woman's words kept bouncing around in her skull, cracking like gunshots in her thoughts.

She had a choice to make.

Moving over to the bed, Riley flopped on it, staring up at the ceiling as the lights dimmed.

Surviving. . .

Surviving wasn't going to cut it anymore.

* * *

** M-di = no.

**A special note on Riley's new duds - or - why the fuck is she parading around in so little? Don't worry, it wasn't for ~ Dat Sexual Appeal doe ~ (like any of them would want to fuck a semi-skeleton?) I did a lot of thinking before I finally decided on Riley's wear. And a lot of artists portray Yautja women with barely anything covering the boobs. I know _that _is for sex appeal, but I started thinking and realized that it fit. Namely because the Yautja just don't give a flying _fuck _about what they wear. In fact, if you really think about it, they'd probably charge into battle _naked _to _get more scars_.

So yeah, Riley, honey, I'm sorry your tits are pretty much hanging out, but it's what they wear.


	10. Knockout

**Symbiosis **

**Rating: **T - M (Rating my increase in later chapters).

**Disclaimer: **I don't own this, but I so wish I did. The Yautja are probably the coolest alien species I've run into.

**Summary**: She was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he was trying to gain honor in his clan - but life had other plans. Now they must survive as a single unit. Throw in government experiments, Yautja culture. . . And what's this about Paya giving the clan a gift? Now he has to keep her from losing her sanity, and she has to try and not taint their honor. . . Easier said than done.

**Warnings: **Gore. Blood. Death. Cursing.

Will be pretty tame compared to what's to come, but just thought I'd be nice and warn ya.

**Author's Notes: **Hey all! Sorry I was away for so long. Professional life can and does suck sometimes. So does responsibility and all that jazz. Anyway, have a new chapter. A lot of character-building in this one, and while I feel it's a bit rocky, I promise the next ones will be a bit smoother. c:

More characterization to come in the following chapter. But it looks like Riley's finally starting to find her bearings, and I'm happy. She's not exactly who she was in the past, but she's something close to it, I'd say.

Anyway, be sure to check out Crayola's wonderful fic, Phantasm. I love her story! She's been editing and revamping it, so it's back and it's better than ever. As always, if you have any comments / critiques / just wanna chat, feel free to drop me a PM or a comment and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.

Kwei's a dick, pass it on.

* * *

"I could take a punch. I could deliver a punch. I didn't have the hardest punch in the world but my punches were sharp and crisp. And if you took too many of them, you would be knocked out."  
-Larry Holmes.

* * *

She was studying.

It was something that Riley knew how to do very well, and she considered it one of her life's true loves. In fact, if she wasn't dick deep in archaeological research papers, she was studying languages - and if she wasn't learning either of _those _two things, money could always be safely bet on how she'd have her nose shoved in some book or another.

Riley flipped through the pages of the book she was reading idly as she brushed out her hair. She'd managed to ask Yautja Woman for a hair tie, and though the alien had been very wary about giving her something that she could manipulate into a tool to kill herself with, eventually Yautja Woman had caved. And Riley would be a filthy fucking liar if she told herself she hadn't pictured hanging herself with it. Looking down at the simple band of stretchy fabric, she smiled wryly at it, briefly wondering if thoughts of suicide would always inject themselves into her head. Maybe this was her own personal brand of intrusive thoughts?

What a lovely notion.

Ugh.

Riley glanced down at the hair tie. It was just _barely _large enough to fit around her wrist, and she doubted she had the ability hang herself from the ceiling or any sort of surface with it. So she was safe from herself. And thoughts of self-harm crossed her mind only infrequently - she didn't willingly think about it anymore. It just kind of happened on its own now. Besides. . . she wanted no part in it. Just thinking about the way that Kwei and his fucking group of high-school cronies had grabbed her arms and stared at her scars. . .

It was enough to make her blood boil.

Quickly plaiting her hair, Riley gave it a brief once over and deemed it good enough. It had taken her a while to figure out a good way to secure her hair back from her face, but she'd managed. After her time spent with the White Coats, things like braiding her hair or fixing herself up. . . she seemed to have forgotten how to do it. She'd even lost the muscle memory in her hands and arms, to boot. She vaguely recalled a time she'd be reading a book and she'd braid her hair without a mirror or any aid. But not anymore.

Yautja Woman had given her a hair tie, which had helped, but she knew she was never going to get an assortment of bobby pins for the flyaways. Now that she was away from the White Coats, her hair was growing back. . . all except for the part that had been shaved for the weird head implant. Whatever the White Coats had done there was permanent. While the rest of her hair was growing out, that part of her scalp remained bald. Sometimes she thought she felt a super-thin, light fuzz, but she always chalked it up to her imagination.

Running a hand over her scalp, Riley turned her attention back down to the book and tried to read, but again, her attention waned.

She was making progress in learning the Yautja language, but she was far from fluent in it. . . but they were still decent strides. She had absolutely no idea how such a feat was possible - her only theory was that since she and Kwei had shared head space for a while, he'd left imprints of his language in her mind. She didn't struggle with trying to grasp it as much as she did, say, Russian. And that should have scared her how quickly she was adapting to just their language. But hell, cultural immersion and necessity dictated she learn it.

In fact, a lot of things should have scared her. But they didn't.

Thinking about Kwei derailed everything, like a mental train wreck. But then again, it normally did. With a frustrated growl, Riley huffed as she rocked back in her chair and irritably shoved the book away from her, as they'd been specially jerry-rigged just for her. The Yautja saw everything in the thermal spectrum, which was incredibly interesting to know. How did she look to them? Perhaps their masks had different visual spectrums they could cycle through? She hoped Kwei didn't have a mask, then. or anything for that matter, the jerk.

Whenever she had the _honor _of being graced with Kwei's presence - which, unfortunately, was quite frequently - he was. . . how could she put it as delicately as possible?

A giant fucking _asshole_.

He sneered at her constantly, and when other Yautja made snide jabs at her, calling her a freak, saying she was unworthy of a place on Paya's mantle, he did nothing to stop them. Instead of doing anything about it, he _encouraged _it. And while she wasn't able to understand all of his insults, she knew enough to comprehend that she was being mocked, jeered, and ostracized. At breakfast, lunch, dinner, and whenever he ran into her in the halls, he derided her with his little group of friends. She always made sure that she was guarded in such instances - and she could always feel him, prowling around the walls of her mental barriers, just waiting for a chance to sneak in.

He wanted to know how much he'd hurt her, the pain she felt. He took pride in her sorrow, delighted in her suffering.

And she wasn't going to give him the fucking satisfaction.

_He can go fuck himself in that little circlejerk of his. Another Yautja can pin him against the wall and he can be all, 'oh, senpai, anywhere but here! What if people see?! Please, be gentle with me!_'

It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was hurt. . . and only _mildly _salty over the matter. She was wounded because they'd endured hell together and he'd turned his back on her. He had willingly told other Yautja to kill her, and his casual disregard for her life. . . it left a very sour taste on Riley's tongue. She wasn't sure if it would ever go away, either. She had helped him survive in that hellhole, much as he liked to believe otherwise. Yeah, she was physically weak, but their breakout had been a team effort. He may have had weird mental powers that had somehow rubbed off on her, but without her help, he'd still be stuck there.

Hell, she'd even _protected _him.

And his reply was a stern, repeatedly echoed, '_let me fuck you up the ass with no lube._'

He loathed her, despised her for being human, something that she couldn't help. He hated her kind because of what they'd done to him, and he wanted to see her suffer for it.

So she was never going to let him. Instead, Riley was pouring all of her energy into her recovery. She still wasn't buying into all of this 'you are a gift from Paya' business, but she did know she had been locked away from an unknown amount of time. And with every passing day about the Yautja ship, she was getting stronger. She was looking less and less like a skeleton every day and more like the girl she vaguely remembered she'd once been.

Still. . .

She was all alone.

She had no friends. No family. No support. She had nobody to rely on but herself, and after the White Coats had shattered her so thoroughly, it was _hard _to pick up the pieces. But she was going to. Yes, there was a lot of challenges and obstacles that she was discovering, but by fucking god, she was going to overcome them. Yautja Woman had been right in that regard: anybody could survive. It took a lot of guts to live.

Riley had faced pain, torture, and utter desolation at the hands of those bastards.

Now she had to prove she had the strength to stand up again.

With a sigh, Riley scrubbed at her face. _I'm thinking so morbidly tonight. . . _

She glanced down at her hands and flexed them. Her nails were a far healthier color, and she was regaining some fatty tissue in her arms and hands. For physical therapy, she was stretching and working out - it was doing wonders. But. . . Riley paused, flexing her hands again, and rotated her arms. Whenever she was stressed about anything, or she just needed a breather, she didn't just stretch or do pushups or situps or anything of the sort. That only flexed the body. She needed something to flex her mind. It was the only atrophied muscle she hadn't quite touched.

But the question was. . . did she. . .

Riley stood up, pushing the books farther back onto the desk, and she stepped out of her room and into the main antechamber. It was quiet, thankfully, and Yautja Woman was nowhere to be found. She stood there, looking down at her hands and flexing them again, watching her muscles move underneath her skin. Did she even remember how to do this?

For a brief moment, a strong flash of fear surged through her. What if she _didn't _remember how to do this? What if she'd forgotten it all? What if the White Coats had managed to scramble her brain so extremely that she couldn't remember one of her other passions? Her hands were starting to shake the longer she thought, and it took Riley a moment to close her eyes and breathe deeply, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling it.

What did the Yautja always say? Fear was just a barricade. Courage, glory, and bravery were what was necessary to dismantle it. . . and no shortage of blood. But still. Riley didn't exactly feel like getting bloody over this. Steeling her resolve, Riley kept her eyes closed as she found her breath and centered on it. In. Out. Her heartbeat slowed, as did the tremors in her hands. A few more breaths, a few more threads of willpower and steel to tighten her spine. Her muscles slowly began to relax, and she widened her stance. She stood there for just another moment, feeling her fear in the bottom of her gut, but she tamped it down. Expelling another breath, Riley lifted up her arms. . . and began to move.

She was rusty, there was no fucking doubt about that. Her movements weren't sharp, pristine, or clean. But they were _there_. Behind her relaxation and calm, she could feel her excitement bubbling up. She remembered. She _remembered_. She hadn't lost the muscle memory that had been drilled into her head. Hours, she'd spent in the gyms with her instructions, hell, even _sparring partners_. She'd fretted that the White Coats had had her forget how to make her body move, but this victory. . . she grinned.

_Fuck you, Man Behind the Glass_.

Riley moved through her stances, muscles only slightly tight and burning from the exertion of it. Going through the forms of the martial arts wasn't exactly what was difficult - it was getting her still-recovering body to do it. Still, she didn't have a broken arm anymore, and she hardly looked like a skeleton on the verge of death, so she'd come a long way. Riley breathed out deeply, inhaled, and forced her mind to calm. She remembered. . . or at least, her body did. And as the seconds wore on, and she found her center, the movements became more fluid and easy. She felt a little seed of happiness starting to sprout inside of her.

"Pup."

Riley's eyes snapped up and she saw Yautja Woman staring back at her, arms crossed sternly in front of her chest.

"What are you doing?"

Having been studying relentlessly for hours on end, for days (_weeks?_), it hardly registered with Riley that Yautja Woman spoke to her in her native tongue.

"I was-"

Yautja Woman raised her hand and flicked two fingers in irritation.

"I will not hear it. Such things are meant to be done in the gym, and not in my home. Do you understand?"

Riley straightened, nodding her head. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"Then go."

Riley wanted to blink her eyes, stare at her like she was a deer in the headlights, and say, 'pardon?' but the dangerous look Yautja Woman was giving her told her saying that would be very unwise. Yautja Woman was a stickler for social etiquette, and apparently Riley had managed to break some. Taking in a steadying breath, Riley steeled her spine and then made for the doorway, ensuring her back was straight and she wasn't slouching. She did not want to get cuffed on the head for looking 'as a coward might.' Yautja Woman didn't pull her punches, and she wanted to avoid having a nice, visible bruise by her ear.

Once she was outside, Riley didn't bother releasing the pent-up breath she was holding until she was sure that she was safe from Yautja Woman. Then she stood there, pausing, and began to fidget with her fingers. Eventually, Riley managed to convince herself to move, and she did so reluctantly. She tried to keep contact with other Yautja as minimal as possible - primarily because they were dicks. As she walked, she balanced her possibilities - she could very well decide to stay out in the hallways, but if she didn't go to the gym, it was highly likely Yautja Woman would find out about it. . .

The consequences were something Riley didn't want to consider.

With a heavy heart, Riley trudged to the gym.

She was familiar with the insides of the Thwei's ship, as Yautja Woman had given her a tour and several books explaining their spacecraft. She didn't understand a majority of the mechanical bits, but she got the gist of it. This clan ship was large enough to hold a handful of families, but there were larger ones still. It was not a warship (though it was armed with weapons), however it had plenty of room to accommodate agricultural farms, gyms, training rooms, ceremony halls. . . _Big _was an understatement, but _vast _was too large. It was like. . . if Riley had to put it to scale, she'd say it was a dozen or so luxury cruise ships smashed together. . . kind of.

Her only impression of the gym was a lot of heavy hitting, grunting, and even some deafening roars. Thankfully they hadn't stayed for too long, but as Riley made her way there, passing by a few Yautja (who didn't even glance at her), she tried her best to collect herself. Yautja Woman would undoubtedly hear about her 'cowardice' in the gym and again. . . hell hath no fury like a Yautja Woman on the warpath.

It had only taken Riley two infractions of the rigid Yautja code to instill the fear of Yautja Woman into her.

Once, she hadn't want to go to physical therapy. Her muscles were too sore and her body felt like it was on the verge of breaking. Yautja Woman had asked her, only once, and when she'd refused, Riley had been bodily dragged from bed, hauled to her feet, and then _forced _to do it. While this didn't sound too awful on the surface, the fact that Yautja Woman had retrieved a switch-like object and snapped it against her skin, over and over again, leaving a pattern of humiliating welts in its wake was what cinched it. Not to mention she'd been forced to showcase these marks at dinner. . . yeeeahhhhhh. Riley never turned down physical therapy again.

The second time had been less humiliating, thank god, but equally as terrifying. Upon eating at dinner, the Elder Bhu'ja had risen and given accolades to a warrior for some deed he'd done, and Riley had flubbed the honor customs. It hadn't been noticeable, but to Yautja Woman, it had screamed 'disrespect.' So, for a majority of that night, she'd forced Riley to do it again, and again, and again, until she got it right. . . all the while glaring at her, fury in her eyes and that switch-thing in her hands. She got a _whap _for every time she fucked up.

Yautja Woman was a hell of a motivator to get shit right the first time.

The doors to the gym yawned before her in short order, and Riley only allowed herself two or five seconds to freak out before she forced herself to take a step. The longer she stood there, the more she was going to panic and possibly chicken out. _And _risk Yautja Woman's wrath.

_No thank you. I choose life. _

As she stepped into the gym, the same sights and sounds greeted her. There were a few rings set into the floor, racks of weapons set onto the walls, and plenty of open space for the Yautja to discuss forms, spar, or exercise. The right of the room was filled with older Yautja, and the left was populated with the younger males of varying ages. Riley swore that the youngest she saw couldn't have been taller than her hip. She stood there, swallowing nervously, and ignoring the stares of a few of the Yautja, Riley headed over to the younger side of the room.

_These _Yautja were much more open to staring. Riley just shrugged it off as best as she could, and after finding a small patch of the gym that wasn't being used, did her best to steady herself. Being in her general vicinity was distasteful, apparently, as a few of the Yautja murmured and relocated away from her, but that didn't bug Riley - more space for her to practice.

Though her hands were shaking (and this time for an entirely different reason), Riley started her forms again. She heard the whispers, saw the stares, but she ignored them. yeah, she felt awkward as fuck just. . . _being _there, doing her human thing, but at the same time, it felt good to have something to herself again. As far as she was aware, the Yautja didn't have any kind of martial arts close to the human variety, but Riley didn't know enough to deem herself an expert on that.

Again, she relaxed her muscles and breathing until she found her center. She corrected herself when she felt or noticed a flaw, and when she finished one form, she moved onto the next. And then she'd restart, tacking one form on top of the other. Muscle memory could only go so far. She needed repetition. That same little seed of happiness sprouted again, and she felt at peace as she continued to do her forms, starting and finishing and restarting-

Only she felt a brush against her mind, and a shiver crawled down her spine.

Kwei.

She didn't bother looking up. If he wanted her to see him, he would. Bring a prick was just in his nature like that. Slightly more on guard, Riley was determined to ignore his presence, and she was doing a damn find job of it, too, until she heard snickering. Riley let it continue on until one particularly annoying snort finally dragged her mind from her practice.

A few of the younger Yautja were openly looking at her and staring. Others were glancing at the closest wall. . . the wall which Kwei was walking away from , some kind of chalk clutched into his hands. She followed his trail, and on the wall, she spotted a rough, crudely-drawn glyph. She looked at the symbol on the wall, and she knew it had been meant for her.

Her mind spun, memories clouding her thoughts.

"_My name. . . he wants to know my name. W-What's my _name?" A pathetic, mewling cry wailed into the darkness.

A grating, harsh laugh. "_You wish name?_"

The hiccuping and sniffling subsided.

A dark, cold chuff of air. "_I give you name._"

"Rjet.**" She murmured, pulling herself back into the present.

She stared at his retreating back, and then she shrugged and went back to her forms. She wanted to get in at least three or four more sets before she called it quits. Yautja Woman shouldn't have any complaints about the length of time she'd spent in the gym - judging by the sweat on her body and her messy hair, Riley had to admit it had been a while.

_Still. . . the name makes sense_, she thought bitterly. _He's never going to see me as anything more than an animal._

* * *

And so a new facet was added into her routine. Physical therapy, which was becoming less and less frequent, studying, dinner, talks with Yautja Woman, and copious amounts of time spent in the gym. Although at first Riley had been incredibly self-conscious about what she was doing, the more time that passed, the more she found out she just didn't care. By the second week of her daily training sessions in the gym (which were becoming longer and longer with every passing day), she swore she was feeling herself becoming stronger.

The older Yautja outright ignored her, unless they were part of Kwei's gang, in which case they openly mocked her. Her 'Yautja name' had been scrubbed from the wall more times than she can count - with her own hands. The first time Kwei had drawn it, she'd gone to leave, but a younger Yautja had pointed at it, and called it disrespectful.

Ahhh. So apparently it was okay for Kwei to graffiti shit, but she had to clean it up. Right. Seemed fair.

But she had, because that was the high road and she wasn't about to go picking fights with other Yautja. She already had one poisoning the water well, no reason to give him more ammunition. So every time it was written, she scrubbed it off. And after a while, that stopped bothering her, too.

The younger Yautja were more tolerable of her, and displayed a range of emotions. Some of the youngest, most impressionable pups were openly curious, while others were disdainful of her. She was used to all that, of course, and chucked it on the backburner when she exercised. Physical therapy was becoming less and less, and more and more time in the gym. She wasn't deaf, of course. She heard their chuckles and snickers and strange little laughs, but she had a stronger constitution than they did.

In fact, it had been the third week she'd decided to play the ridiculous game Kwei was hellbent on playing.

When they'd first met, he'd lopped off one of his dreds and gave it to her. So, Riley attached that to a sturdy cable she got from Yautja Woman (who was even trusting her with knives and sharp objects), and wore it around her waist. It was her own personal trophy belt, of sorts. And the very first, most prominent one, was Kwei.

She'd been midway through a form when he'd entered, spotted her. And then he'd hissed in fury and stalked out. Riley had had to bite back a stupid grin that threatened to brighten the room. But for the rest of the week, Kwei had been defeated, humiliated in a socially acceptable way. And that had given Riley more time to focus on herself. With every day, she could see the outlines of her muscles under her skin, and that made her happy. She'd taken so much pride in her physique before the White Coats had flayed her alive. And look where she was now - far less sickly. Her mind was beginning to feel normal, too.

She felt as though she wasn't quite as intimidated by the Yautja, and her confidence was slowly but surely building. She didn't cower as she walked through the hallways, and Kwei's jeers hurt her less and less.

It was the tail end of the third week that she started noticing some major differences.

Maybe the Yautja had taken bets, spread rumors that she would give up eventually, who the hell knew. But Riley noticed the younger Yautja would stare at her, open curiosity on their faces as she moved through her forms. She attacked imaginary opponents, and had half a mind to ask one of them where she might find a punching bag so she could practice her strikes on an object. But she was in no hurry to obtain one, so she continued moving through her forms. . .

And took note that one of the younger pups was trying to copy her. Riley suppressed a small smile. His stance was too wide, and his fist was improperly clutched. Riley had not managed to obtain a book on Yautja biology, but she had to guess this pup was young. Maybe. . . in his late childhood? She wasn't exactly sure, but he only came up to her shoulder at most, so he had to be young.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, spinning around on her food and delivering a solid kick to the air.

The pup tried and failed.

Riley blocked low, prepped her next punch, and grabbing an imaginary attacker and pulling him in close, planted a solid blow into the soft tissues of his neck.

The pup managed it, but he was clumsy. So very clumsy. Unable to handle the momentum, he fell onto his knee, looking irritated that he hadn't been able to do it.

Riley stopped, unable to stop the urge rising in her. She weighed her options for only a second before, quite decisively, she spun on her heel and approached the young Yautja. As she approached, he jumped up, brows drawing, shoulders flaring back in what looked like an expression of both embarrassment and anger. Riley marched over to him and when she stood in front of him, she nodded down at the young pup.

"Get back in the stance."

The Yautja clicked defiantly up at her. "Stupid Ooman." He growled, crossing his arms over his chest, "What does she think she's doing?"

Riley rolled her eyes.

"Get back in the stance," She ordered, repeating it in his native tongue.

The pup looked at her with an expression of shock, his eyes blinking rapidly. Riley waited, staring him down. . . and though it took an eternity, the pup, confused. . . he did.

Riley set to work immediately, correcting the mistakes in his form by touching them, tapping at his thighs, waist, and arms. The pup growled at her, but Riley only shrugged.

"Do it properly or don't bother. Now. Shut up and watch."

She stood opposite of him, adopting the same stance. "This is what you do when someone tries to attack you from the front. Watch."

In slow motion, Riley followed through the small combo, giving the Yautja time to block and counter. She corrected his flaws, showing him the proper way, and he clicked in interest, eyes glancing between her body, her hands, her legs, and her face. A few more times with her switching, standing beside him and mirroring the movements for him to copy, Riley finally decided to showcase how it was done.

"Ready?' She asked. "Three. Two. One."

And she moved, striking, acting as the aggressor. The pup, new to what she'd taught him, did his best, but it ended with him on the floor, landing flat on his back. Riley grinned, stifling a laugh.

"You'll get it-"

A deadly, rage-filled snarl made her turn, and she did a double-take, wondering what the fuck was going on. But the Yautja storming over to her looked absolutely enraged, his body tense and his fist clenched.

"Ooman, how _dare _you touch that pup! To believe your audacity."

Oh.

He drew up flush in front of her, towering over her. The pup behind her squeaked and eagerly jumped up, running away. Riley glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and then back to the Yautja in front of her. They were both varying shades of brown. The one in front of her was more dark brown, speckled through with some green, and the little one almost looked like the spitting image of him.

_Brothers. _

And not only that, but she knew this one. He was one of the Yautja who hung with Kwei.

"You filthy apes," He continued. "And your inferior fighting styles! How _dare _you touch my brother-"

"Hey," She interrupted, finding her spine, "I only use it for self-defense and your _brother _was copying-"

Either the Yautja was pissed she interrupted him, talked back, or was defending herself - hell, maybe all three. But a hand came out of nowhere, striking her in the ribs, and Riley dropped to her knees, wheezing as she tried to suck in air. But there was no time to rest - the fucker was on her again in a heartbeat.

And before she knew it, a fight as on.

They attracted quite a crowd, not that Riley noticed. She was too busy holding her ground. She'd been practicing against imaginary opponents for the past three weeks, not an actual fighter. She was doing a fairly good job of it, too, but it was necessary. Any time he managed to snake past her guard, it was like getting hit with a goddamn freight train. He fought with a form so unlike anything she'd ever encountered before, she had no idea how to deal with it. She was on guard as she tried to figure out how to press an attack instead of just getting pushed around.

She grit her teeth after the Yautja tried to knock her off of her feet, but she saw her opening.

Riley let out a battle cry as she swung her elbow out, catching the Yautja in the face. This stunned him, so she pressed the advantage, ducking in close and sweeping _his _legs from underneath him. From there, she knew what to do. She was on him in a second, locking him down, pinning one of his arms in a bar and tweaking it so hard she was sure it would snap. But it didn't. Her opponent, far from pleased with the turn of events, struck at her with his free hand. Riley wrenched her eyes shut and breathed through the pain of what would surely be a wonderful black and purple bruise on her thigh.

She pulled tighter.

He punched.

She couldn't take the pain. She dislodged, but was quick to speed forward and as he was rising to his feet, slam her own roundhouse directly into his temple. he went down a second time, sprawling out on the floor. Instead of being stunned, however, the Yautja responded with a nasty growl, and in a millisecond he was on his feet. Riley saw a flash of brown as he kicked her.

She lost consciousness almost immediately. She numbly felt herself flying, tumbling over the ground until her head met something that refused to yield. She heard something break with a loud _crack, _and then she was still.

In the distance, she swore she heard cheers. There was excited voices and garbled voices. Hands and claws and talons grabbing her and hefting her up. She managed to crack open her eyes, her head lolling about drunkenly, and she saw Kwei in the black cobwebbing of her sight.

He was glaring at her, disgust all over his features.

Riley woke up many hours later, a headache pounding in her temples, and bandages pressing tightly against her scalp. A figure ghosted into her sight, and she blinked a few times to clear away the blurriness. It was Doctor Yautja, the same one that had treated her broken arm. He looked her over, preforming a checkup, but paused.

"The past few times we've met," He said slowly, in English, "You were far from calm. And now, after having sustained a fracture, I must ask. . . why are you smiling?"

She was. And it was broad. And bright.

"Because." Riley answered in his tongue, "I finally got up again."

* * *

** Rjet = animal


End file.
